Small Things
by and published in Edition Three of Pomegranate
There’s emptiness here that rings in your bones
like a tuning fork, so you need really
to concentrate on small things; blades of grass
edging through the concrete.
The wind picking out
the shivers along your skin.
You should walk. Let your footsteps charm up
an echo, the company
of ghost feet
and keep thinking of small things. Like the way
you ring doorbells and then run your lungs raw, the way
you write messages in the dust
filming the windows
though there’s nobody to read them.
Sophie Mackintosh
Sophie Mackintosh is nineteen and when she grows up she wants to be Tyra Banks. She won third prize in the Tower Poetry Competition 2007 and hopes to study English at uni later on this year. When she’s not writing or reading, you can generally find her playing guitar in the dingiest bars Wales has to offer, dressing up in sequinned shoes, or drinking fine wines from Lidl… ahem.