on this walk I self-mythologise.
I know what I look like from space:
a grain of sand in a yellow coat
a figure drawn in chalk, crawling through time
I want the rain to fall on me forever
thick as snail slime -
how I will glitter on the way back!
running through blurs of oilseed
“it looks like a storm is blowing in”
her voice at the end of our phone call
sings through the rustles of the trees,
through the jumbles of knots and snags.
last time I was here I thought
I was dying: the pain in my chest
felt the size of the moon -
now the beginnings of bluebells
push green heads through the soil
and everything is nearly-new
Rachel is 21-year old and in her second year of studying Classics at Oxford University. Her favourite colour is green, and her poetry has been published in Clandestine Lit Mag, alongside a selection of Oxford university publications. You can find more of her work at linktr.ee/racheljung.