Nana Nightingale

Originally published by The Cadaverine.

Nana Nightingale
Rebekah Miron

I can’t steady your hand, nor
graze the frayed edges of your
midnight madness. I can’t wake
you from dreaming or call a cease-
fire, deliver your letters nor live in your
shaken daylight. In the mornings,
you tremble for dawn like you’ve
caught fire at the windowsill. Your
tongue moves maroon & the words won’t
s y n t h e s i s e; tiny fish in tide,
each time I’ve tried to try to try to try
and talk out loud for both of us – I never do.
Instead, I recognise your grief speak
in the empty shapes my mouth makes
always trying its best to articulate –
you have taught me a silent kind of terror.

Semi-Finalist in Ruminate’s VanderMey Non-fiction Prize

I’m so grateful to Ruminate magazine for considering my creative non-fiction work ‘Five Migraines’ for the VanderMey Non-fiction Prize. The piece was a collection of memories about pain, migraines in particular, written in prose poetry. It was quite a tough thing to write so when I learned it was selected in February as a semi-finalist, I was quite moved. I’d recommend this magazine and their prize submissions greatly – the Editors were very kind and informative throughout the process.

For more information or to submit: