by Rachel Cunniffe
Give me space in this city
I can’t stretch
My skin is too small
For the flesh it contains.
I wish you weren’t the source
of my confusion
Because then I could ask you for advice
Behind the clouds the sun is dulled
To a yellow fading bruise
If I sound like
I’m accusing you
I don’t mean to
I wish it would rain
To clear the air.
I wish
I wish you were here
Wasn’t so common place.
Rachel Cunniffe is based in the North East of England and has written a wide range of poetry since being a teenager, has a MA in Writing Studies gained in 1995 from Edgehill University College.
Real jobs stifled her creativity for 16 years and she has recently been able to partially retire and spend more time writing again. She has been a member of several creative writing groups one of which has been in existence since 1991.
She read regularly at the now sadly no more Callender Poetry Festival in September during that time for about 9 years. She lives with a large black dog and two cats.
