Winter Light
The clear winter light down Oxford Street
is the frost I will wish North,
that my mother’s country may remember me,
in the quality of the daybreak,
of the shape of free-falling snow.
Mum is always looking out the kitchen window,
in the back of the house,
where it is darkest first,
because she knows the vicious winters,
— every light is a false one.
Bethany is a Scottish writer currently living in London. Her poetry has been published in Octavius, Raum Poetry and Vast Sky. She tweets @brgbethany.
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