The children slept in their cots, wrapped up in new wallpaper they had stripped from the walls. I gently pulled it away, but that isn’t the end of the story.
What woke them were eggs thrown at the window, yolks dripping like a broken sun. I had just picked up the kids when airgun shots hit the glass,
hurling lead inside to roll down the sill. The police said their father’s origin of birth was purely incidental, that there was nothing to investigate.
Thyrza Leyshon lives and works in Essex. Her work has been published in a range of magazines including the Warwick Review, the Interpreter's House, Under the Radar, and Other Poetry. She also has a poem included in Est: Collected reports from East Anglia published by Dunlin Press.