A Poem by Fran Newton: When I Get Old

A body like this.

A mind, even –


It kills. It kills –

To be something ever silver,


Gather here, watch me

Shrink and

Shrivel like old fruit


Or rotting flowers.

Still feet on ground,


I stay, still here,

Stone stiff, stuck straight, but


Now we find I’ve gathered moss –

Damp and green, I


Might retain the heat of

Younger summers rising.


Dark heat. Dark melting moons.

There’s more to say of


Nothingness – it’s

Underrated. Reading more books –


Drinking more booze –

Swearing with grace. Shit. Fuck. Cunt.

The colour red. The colour green.

The colour blue.


Image (4).jpg


Illustration by Isabel Kilborn.

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