Sarah Cave


Moomin’s Dream

Moomin bit his tongue
a forget-me-not token
of excess flourished
his last night-terror
a dark hallway
an echo
13 steps
an amber glow
the sign of 13
Moomin’s ball and chain
dissolves in an acid rain
marking stonework
he sees words
emerge, bob,
bob, balance
like buoys
like rhythms ripping
tides of Sisyphean repetition            end stop

Moomin longs for the body
an endless deconstructed bag
joining lips to the stop                 end stop
he can’t stop reading theory         stop

unscramble                     Speak plain! Screams Moomin
clasping his cheeks
surrounded by a swirl of colour

Snorkmaiden dances      
behind him     shells
in her hair                       She’s confused you for a machine, Moomin says to himself
this unending war
between us
‘Morris would never
paint a fringe like that’     Another might, Moomin reasons  
she carries out preordained
motions a Wildean parody
of seashore

where ocean drift is tapestry
scenes invoking conjuring tricks
an umbrella
a hat stand,
a dragon painted
kite trailing silk
all pulled from Snorkmaiden’s
sea-sick sense
of loss –

Poor Snorkmaiden, sighs Moomin, she has no voice.

a rabbit hole of mimsy




Sarah Cave is currently studying for an MA in Poetry at Royal Holloway. She has had poetry, reviews and stories published in magazines including Tears in the Fence, Shearsman and Oxford Poetry Magazine. She has a small pamphlet, Cast on Ice, published by Smallminded Books.

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