The Girl at the Till

The Girl at the Till

by Elizabeth Challinor

At odds with herself

And unable to contain the unease

She became a jug

Pouring herself out

With the hope

That that sickly nagging feeling

Would wash out with everything else

It remained

Lining her insides

Like the limescale in a kettle

So she kept on pouring

More and more

Until one day

She ran dry

And turned inwards

To face the crevices and cracks

Of her being

And then began to pour again

Inundating herself

With liquid light

She could feel it

Seeping into her bones

She could see it in the mirror

Her hair began to shine

Her eyes became smooth

She could feel it in the street

Her gait became light

As if wheels had replaced her feet

And the girl at the till

Commented upon her smile

Elizabeth Challinor