Winter
by and published in Edition Two of Pomegranate
Today we lay on our backs
Staring at the ceiling.
A tray of withered purplish plums
Faced the window, the open window
As the snow thrummed through
Gently. We were pensive, purplish plums
Staring at the ceiling. Together.
Our fingers touched like melting ice.
We were still,
Watching the golden flakes make patterns
On the floor. The dust rose from the red carpet.
I traced your face with my icy fingertips, your
Lips were blue from the cold and your eyes were red
And little bits of dust settled in your rosy hair mixed
With the golden flakes from the garden.
You looked like Christmas. All that I wanted.
Thrumming snowflakes, your lips, blue-red with the windows open.
Harriet Moore
Harriet Moore has been published by Magma and Pomegranate, and she also recorded with Poetcasting for the Pomegranate audio issue. She is a second year at UCL studying English Literature and is President of the UCL Young Writers Society, which is a lot of hard work but means she gets to have open mic nights in her basement in Mile End and drink red wine on the Union’s budget.