Little girl

I often wonder what she was really like: the little girl I used to be. I’ve heard so many stories and I’ve imagined so many moments I no longer know which memories are true and which are figments - fragments of pillow thoughts or wandering daydreams.     Poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019 Between the Trees … Continue reading Little girl

Ten years

There are times when I think back to the way we were. I see daffodils and endless meadows; cows lying down for the rain. And I hear you. Pubescent and handsome, cut cheek bones and blonde eyelashes. There was an innocence in being eleven, twelve and thirteen before the curtains of the real world were … Continue reading Ten years

Memory lines

I could say, your arms, the horizon, the ocean shore, or anywhere but here.   Instead, the only place I wish to run is backwards along memory lines to encircle the small girl with a face like mine and reassure her everything gets better in time.   Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019


My mother’s arms arc gently, paintbrush in hand. She is decorating my bedroom walls with flowers; pink petals, purple shadows and sunshine yellow centres. I watch, sat cross legged in the middle.   Cross legged on a beige carpet, surrounded by the magnolia walls my mother is gracing with her colours, her charm, her beauty … Continue reading Ambrosia

The Vale

We talked more here than at home. It was the only place I could look at you and love you timelessly.   The silence, was comfortable too. No longer punctuated with betrayal and bickering about anything, from the biscuit tin to communism.   I guess it’s all worthless now. It won’t lessen the distance or … Continue reading The Vale


I used to believe in abracadabra magic; white rabbits from hats, ribbons from shirt sleeves, coins from behind my ear, children’s party make believe; dragons and princesses, tall towers and treehouses, and the way the wind blows whispers when you are small and slight with dreams dripping on your brow and in the crooks of … Continue reading Whirligig