The Bell
written by: Sera V Worrall
Gold, red, an orange glow
Fire reflected in the glittering sequins
A bell, that never rings,
A memory that’s just as vibrant
Mirrored in the tears
Coursing down pale cheeks.
My mother, a young woman again,
Pining tiny sequins to a bell
Whilst Clooney croons about Snow
My young self watching, rapt,
Her chocolate Santa only half eaten.
My mother, joining in the song
Her joy evident as the last sequin’s secured.
The prized ornament
Still as coruscant years later
Hung on the tree with pride
A daughter’s heart
Broken
Her heart as blue
As the ice outside
Sera has always been an avid reader, with a penchant for romances and fantasies. Taking the next step beyond reading, she ventured into writing in her twenties with a work of Harry Potter fanfiction. Since that inauspicious beginning, and finding herself in a wheelchair in her thirties, she has written a few short stories aimed at children. She also began to write poetry on love and the natural world. When not absorbed in reading a book or creating her own worlds, Sera enjoys saving lemmings from an untimely end in her favourite game, going for a walk around the neighbourhood, singing along {off-key) to Spotify, or spending too much time on the computer. She lives in England with her collection of crystals, unicorns and house plants.
