For as long as I can remember,
you were almost
            your name snared in a hitched 
breath between, ‘I miss you’ 
                    and ‘I’m sorry’
            an almost echo, I, I – –
I lose my train of thought again–
Yesterday, I almost saw you,
            a reflection in a moving car
window, and I swear 
in that moment, I felt the squeeze 
of your hand on my thigh
as you reached across 
the gearstick, the ghost 
of a bruise on pale skin,
when you told me you loved me, 
I almost believed you, I almost 
             said it back.

---

Ella B. Winters (she/they) is a double immigrant, writing from the South-East coast of England where she lives with her partner and their sausage dog.  She is a social worker, and her work often explores themes of identity, memory and belonging. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in The Aftershock Review, Full House Literary, Wild Roof Journal, Outskirts Literary, Silly Goose Press, and others. She is an associate editor at Shadow & Sax.
Instagram: @ella.b.winters 
Bluesky: @ella-b-winters.bsky.social

Betty Powdrill is a poet based in Yorkshire, England. A sucker for compassion, noticing the tiny moments and buying more notebooks than she’ll ever be able to fill, she drafts in pencil – messy and urgent – then presses her words into permanence on her vintage typewriter. Her poetry has been published in Page Gallery Journal, Flare Magazine, Shadow and Sax and Azarão Lit Journal, amongst others.
Instagram: @betty.p.poetry