This is just to say,
that the inked glasses that you wear look like
the sound of shop front shutters at five,
clattering on rollers and hiding merchandise,
and your incisors, exposed by your smile,
look like the feeling
of top cupboard china in my grip,
while in light snow, your hair, pulled and woven
may look like the taste of the crumb
of a Tunnock’s snowball on my tongue
and the skin on your face, hugging your mouth
and tucked under your glasses that is
moulded and folded by your lips
stirs in my mind like the balmy coffeed breath
of an office worker, passing me at nine.
Abigail Nelson was born in 1990 in Northern Ireland, and studies English and Film at Queens University Belfast. Her inspiration comes from her surroundings. This is her first poem to be published.