Wallis 70

Sarah Wallis


I am more precious now, 
stock rising with each injection 
as I take on more treasure, a pirate’s 
gleam. Glimpsed through glasses 
my corpuscles are encircled 
with gold, the corona winks 
up at the microscope and each time 
the scientist must blink and smile, 
they are turning me into an ingot
and with rude delight, compare
soaring notes as traders might. 

The harbinger of age struck early
and now my fingers refuse to uncurl
as if they held something precious, 
afraid of thieves, something more 
than movement. If I were to be weighed
and sold I would amount to more 
than the sum of myself, my fortune. 
Flecks of yellow enter my eyes, 
which are not hazel in daylight 
but when the lamps dim and die  
like a beacon, like a cat, they shine.

Sarah Wallis is a writer based in Leeds, UK. 2018 publications include Pidgeonholes, Ellipsis, Best New British & Irish Poets, The A3 Review, Burning House Press and The Island Review.  Follow her on twitter @wordweave