Today’s choice

Previous poems

Audrey Cotterell

 

 

 

A November anniversary

In a corner chapel of the abbey
I lit a small candle, and sent the flame
as a message only half composed
to somewhere I hardly believed in.

Room is restricted on the ferry:
six cars, a few pedestrians and dogs,
all of us looking across the water
at the estuary’s other bank coming closer.

Even if the river’s unwrinkled, the crossing smooth
and it doesn’t take too much waiting
to get to the opposite side
lighting a candle is never straightforward.

 

 

Audrey Cotterell lives in Sussex. Her work was long listed for the Winchester Poetry Prize in 2024, and has been published in London Grip.

Bel Wallace

      Interior My dear, I washed you out of my sheets. And now I sleep softly in them. My dreams are sweet and free. I opened the windows to air out your smoke. I liked it for a while, how it held the past in its wispy fingers. I emptied your cigarette...

Martin Fisher

Inside, in the half-light, the iron rot took hold.
Forgotten service–obsolete.
Salt-coin neglect.

The money flowed inland,
Moored on an hourglass choke.
No one told the sea.