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  • Kirsty Taylor

White As Snow

Updated: Apr 30, 2020

The paper white as snow,

Glistens in the light.

Tick, tock, tick, tock,

8.10, 8.12, 8.14, 8.16,

Still the paper sits there as white as snow

The paper is now dazzling in the light.

8.22, my biro pen slowly approaches,

A stroke and its done,

Tick, tock, tick, tock

Now a whole sentence sits on the page

‘Sara got on the 24 bus every Monday at 8am, as if it was second nature.’

Tick, tock, tick, tock,

Now a whole paragraph about Sara has come, screech, abruptly to a stop,

Photography by Natalia Paklikowska (https://www.nataliapaklikowska.com/)

Thoughts swirl around my brain what does Sara do now?

What is next?

What was a story within a matter of minutes becomes notes

It essentially becomes academia on a story not written,

As the years pass, and the essays in the folder grow,

Sara becomes she.

As the terms fly by, the relationships happen or don’t happen,

Friendships begin and end, there are celebrations and commiserations,

Weddings and funerals.

She becomes me,

The words begin flowing out,

The stories plummet onto the page.

What was missing all along was the Sara is not she, she is a little bit me.

She could not be me, until I knew who me is or was.


- Words by Kirsty Taylor, Photography by Natalia Paklikowska

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