Poetry Centre

Sunspill

  • when the west licked
    under the cloud low
    silver, gold leaf prising
    the sky lid so that
    the grumpy driver, the
    one-eyed dog, the early
    drunks, the Japanese
    tourist, the old man
    at the front of the queue
    were each in a luminous
    pocket and the pigeons
    and pensioners, and the
    cyclists
    and Friday night out
    and the suddenly antiphonal windows
    all signalling
    something else
    something else
    something else
    and just for a moment
    everyone’s shoulders
    grew wings

    by Helen Kidd