the girls we were

by Irene Cantizano Bescós

We were immortal children 

in the forest’s golden glade.

Our skirts swirling in the schoolyard,

poplar seeds like falling snow.

Three half-remembered dreams

I caress every morning.

Here’s the last one:

Remember when I showed you Orion’s Belt?

The summer stars got tangled in your hair

I brushed them out - your thick black curls the night sky

I was afraid to breathe; how could time not stop right then, how did it dare?

You were so beautiful back then.

But when we went into the woods and tried to play,

our bodies weren’t ours anymore 

our hands suddenly too big,

we couldn’t recognise each other.

Then all these perfect boys I loved and hurt

because 

they weren't you.

Now, when the house is quiet

on the eve of the long summer,

I unspool my days onto my breast.

Of all the lives I didn't live,

ours is the one I most regret.

Irene Cantizano Bescós is a writer and immigrant from Spain lost between two languages. Her work has been featured in Amethyst Review, Moria, Black Hare Press, Five Minutes, (mac)ro(mic), and Tales to Terrify, among others. She is also a freelance journalist, and her reporting has appeared in leading Spanish and UK titles such as Huffington Post, El País, Telva, and Positive News. Irene lives in England with her husband, two boisterous toddlers, and two warring cats. You can find her on Twitter as @IreneCantizano.