• Neon Mariposa Magazine

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.


Recent Posts

See All

Two Poems by Kenneth Pobo

DULCET TONES ON GETTING AHEAD SOMEDAY I’m in my pajamas at 3 in the afternoon. I haven’t showered. Maybe I did a few days ago. Dishes in the sink form an army to overthrow me. I should be overthrown.

Two Poems by Akin-Ademola Emmanuel

HOW TO LIE TO YOUR MOTHER If the words are too heavy to let into mom's ears Or perhaps if it would douse her smile with tears & clench Her tooth in agony. Resort to the garden & chew bitterleaves with

Home by Kateri Ransom

My home is miles away from my home. The four walls I grew up in, that trapped in the heat, and played music when we cleaned, and danced after Friday night movies, and served Eggos on frosty school mor

©2018 by Neon Mariposa Magazine. Proudly created with

This site was designed with the
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now