S Reeson


Again, orbits collide
fingers clasped, emphatic ride
disturbed by which
you never will remove
and that destroys
all sanctity we ever hold.
‘I cannot leave’, and yet
you stay, each time
apologetic as the last, 
decaying moment’s tryst, lust
fractured, bound as art.
What hangs us isn’t gold;
unmake life’s possibility
forever gone, potential she, 
not I


Saturday night, remains
though ache’s malaise
only created because
life, somehow expired
smoothly vacated, silver
strands across our sin.
Athena lied, persists
wisdom lost, derides
pointlessness of this
when I cannot
remove a lie from life;
faulted, contained
lies sleeping above he
incapable of trust.
This mettle cannot
move, remains as proof.

S Reeson [she/they] is 54, bisexual and married with two children: they has suffered anxiety for all of their life, and started telling stories as a ten-year-old in order to help them cope. They write and record poetry, short stories and episodic fiction, plus dissect their unique creative processes using both video and audio as the means to continue coping.

A considerable lived experience of mental health issues, a passion for niche arts and media and an undimmed enthusiasm for environmentalism combine, to allow creativity to emerge, and new stories and projects to be created. They love to experiment, pushing creative boundaries and gain a huge amount of motivation and inspiration from talking about both the journey and their continued development as a creative.

When S is not in her second home online, they enjoy lifting heavy weights, learning how to run properly and static cycling in the meat space.

Flights. Issue One, June 2021