Clay

by Lauren Ivers

Heavenly father,
I am fourteen
and I am lonely.

I am in the belly
of some great fish,
or down in the Babylonian den
among closed-mouth lions
purring in a circle.

Lord, let me out.

I’m going to kiss Euan
in the murk
of the youth club smoke machines
down by the Citadel Quay,
with or without
your help.

When I get bored of him
you can make me
into someone better,
or hand me that clay.
I’ll do it myself.