Tilting Nights

Sometimes she would stand,
hands folded,
resting her gaze by the window.
She would wait until lights fell flat
for laughter on the streets
for bodies following faces
as words trail slowing feet.
She watched the tiny worlds between floating
hands as fingers parted ways
and how sometimes rain grazed
on moonlight, feeding
the glowing dawn.
But most nights she would sit,
face creased,
knotting her fists in silence.
She would comb the walls for colours,
watching thoughts flake and fall.∎

Words by Katie Meynell. Artwork by Tofi Omisore.