Seasonal Affective
by and published in Edition Seven of Pomegranate
you spill all our light in an earthenware pot
siphon it away like diesel, firewood – whistle from the hills of a northern town
as the chimneys line the sky with blankets.
in the city days fall off in five minute slots – we start to place bets on the sunset.
an hour is stolen sudden by a wound-back clock
my work walk an invisible assassin.
but on mornings like these you give it all back
in a blazing dawn sari that galvanizes all – coating each redbrick house in rich copperplate – it makes me reconsider our long route home.
David Tait
David Tait is 23 and new to the whole poetry submitting lark. He is working on his first collection of poetry and hopes to finish this before death. He likes rewriting fairytales with a twist and so naturally stalks (though sadly not literally) Carol Ann Duffy and Jeanette Winterson.