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The Blue Room by Lucy Whitehead

I wake around midnight on Christmas Eve in the old hotel;

my mother is still sleeping. We are not alone.


For three nights now we've heard soft footsteps in the dark,

perhaps the creak of floorboards in the ancient house.


Tonight a stranger is standing at the foot of my bed,

folds of her dress gathering moonlight through a crack


in the curtains like petals of a pale pink rose, dark eyes

fixed on mine like nails. I look away, call my mum.


There's no answer through the shadowed room; no one

stirs in the silent house. I lie frozen to the spot.


Before I pull the duvet over my eyes and wait for dawn,

I sneak another glance at the motionless moonlit arms,


the unfamiliar-styled dress, ebony hair curling around

thin shoulders like thorns. I meet her icicle gaze,


the hollow sadness of her eyes, sense something

she can't say in her face. My heart is pounding,


my limbs go numb. And I wonder if she has shown herself

to me because I am just a child. Or whether


she is the woman I will become.




Lucy Whitehead has a BA (Hons) in Archaeology and Anthropology and an MA in History of Art and Archaeology. She writes haiku and poetry. Her haiku have been published in numerous international journals and anthologies and her poetry has appeared in Amethyst Review, Barren Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Burning House Press, Collective Unrest, Electric Moon Magazine, Ghost City Review, Mookychick Magazine, and Twist in Time Magazine, and is forthcoming in Anti-Heroin Chic. She absolutely adores gluten and dairy free mini pizzas. You can find her on Twitter @blueirispoetry.

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