Gill O’Halloran
After lessons, they play leapfrog on the lawn. On the lawn, at the far end, the river where he paddled, where frogs gaze frozen under stones. Under stones, sunk in silt, the locket she lost after she lost him. After she lost him, she quit the job, knowing she could never be playful, or pretend to be playful. Pretend to be playful, the occupational therapist said, no one will notice. No one will notice her behind the hedge, watching the kids play leapfrog. The kids play leapfrog, and a boy says Jamie was the best leapfrogger, and they agree, laugh, carry on leaping. Carry on leaping, she mouths to the boys, to the forever locket, the hidden stone inside her. Inside her, she engraves his name.
bubbles surface
from dark water depth
a silver ring
Gill O’Halloran’s a lido-loving Londoner, first published by Trash Cat Lit. With stories in SmokeLong Quarterly, Bath and Oxford anthologies, she’s a LISP finalist and winner of the 2025 NFFD Anthology Editors Award, Westword and Flash500. Her poetry collection was a Top 20 Small-Press Poetry Award pick.
Connect with Gill
Read more from Gill:
WestWord – ‘Love in the Time of Bird Flu‘
Thin Skin – ‘When My Bride of Christ No Longer Wore Lipstick‘
Here on Trash Cat Lit – ‘If it (Ain’t) Broke, Don’t Fix it‘ and ‘Get Thee Beside me, Satan, We Need a Selfie‘
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