Julie Stevens


Loss is a pocket on fire
a scorched memory
that burns a hand.

An open packet
in frail skin
which longs to be shared.

A fallen sentence
scraping the ground
with deaf ears.

An aching sock
holding a mountain
in an open drawer.

An empty chair
with only a book mark
curled by absent fingers.

Loss is a running track
with the eyes of feet
stinging like my own.


Rain hurtles sharp as it cuts to the ground
unites with waves as it wrestles the sea,
a charge of wind will ignite a calm sky
before a crazed plane dismantles its call.

A thunderbolt will blaze every stunned flight
terrified fleeing alarmed by the sky’s reach,
a ray of light will always travel wild
stealing the dark from unsuspecting eyes.

My toes start to twitch as the speed sinks in
but a chase to lost days won’t help me now,
the ache inside is a stark reminder
to not run away from who I am.


When I’m still, I can wake summer,
let it rise from a hedge as a
gold beam stitching the sky.

The stir of leaves, as they pat the air
and rich conversations
that nest in my ears.

I watch this parade
my thoughts are clear,
try climb with the eyes of the trees.

But night remembers my trials
yanks the curtains shut,
knows it can start now.

Julie Stevens writes poems that cover many themes, but often engages with the problems of disability. Her poems have recently been published in Fly on the Wall Press, Ink Sweat & Tears, Dear Reader and The Dawntreader. Her winning Stickleback pamphlet Balancing Act was published by The Hedgehog Poetry Press (June 2021) and her chapbook Quicksand by Dreich (Sept 2020).


Twitter @julesjumping

Flights, Issue Four, April 2022