tonight, the tarot cards divine gibberish.
perhaps even the stars have momentarily misplaced their tales;
even the grass, with its usual frolics, now only mumbles,
mouth stuffed full of lavender weed.
over the horizon, rabbits play hide-and-seek
we briefly spectate, too impatient to interrupt the gala:
first, we caper, like woodland fairies armed with glowsticks,
then jump, through the ceiling, piercing clouds,
pretending to be childish immortals
by midnight, the monarch has been sent off to bed
in a silkworm’s carriage. And us?
we write the kingdom’s desires onto basil leaves,
summoning paper balloons to be angelic envoys
Willow is a writer from Singapore, where she is studying. Her current preoccupations include taking naps, and taking naps. While not in school, Willow reads a copious amount of fairytales and writes the same way to keep herself sane. Coffee breaks are also on her mind.
Painting by. Tim Maguire