The Lost Child by Lynn Valentine

                     Ben Seidelman CC



The Lost Child

Your shadow darkens on the flap of the tent,
summoned in nylon and mushroom breath.

Your pigtail hangs long on your back, mimicking mine.
I want to take your hand, say daughter, daughter.

Repeat daughter, daughter.
Say the words until the air solidifies with you.

Daughter, daughter, I tell you, I had a name
ready for you. I gave it to the dog. 

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Lynn Valentine lives on the Black Isle with husband and Labradors. Her work has been published in in places such as Northwords Now and The Blue Nib. She is organising her first poetry collection under the mentorship of Cinnamon Press after winning a place on their Pencil mentoring competition.

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