The Incorruptibles
by and published in Edition Eight of Pomegranate
There was paper skin that could bloom
if you touched it; I knew that much.
Some lay where they fell, others
pulled up like puppets, bruised under the eyes.
Made a wish on Catherine of Siena,
mouthed misted-up words
on the glass of the case – had a soft spot
for the miracles she spun like glass or sugar
from the air, the way I tried to do
but they always fell flat. Help me I whispered
to the candles my mother lit. I swung
my fingertip through the flame.
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.