The City
by and published in Edition Ten of Pomegranate
Sunlight spattered the city as we came
down to the Tyne. The waves so old and lame
from the weight of nails-steel-sparks, collieries..
But coffee was on the breeze, calling me
and we were wandering streets without aim.
An art gallery. You perceived a flame,
the watching shadows. And I saw paint, a frame.
A friendship’s the same: it shifts restlessly
like sunlight spattering a city.
There was a pub and the mention of Spain.
We couldn’t agree if it was a game
played on roof tops or a joint beside the sea.
This barrier made me glad suddenly.
Spain was just in this pub. Only I felt your name-
and sunlight spattered the city.
Julia Rampen
Julia Rampen lives in Edinburgh, Scotland and is currently on her gap year saving up to travel the world. She started writing poetry in 2004 and has been published in The Rialto and New Writing Scotland 24. As well as poetry, she enjoys playing in loud orchestras, hearing scandalous stories and walking places.