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New Irish Voices
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Liberty Walks Naked
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Done Dating DJs
Done Dating DJs
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Richesses: Francophone Songwriter Poets
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LOUISE WILFORD

 

 

 

Louise has been writing poems and stories since she was eight, and has had around 50 poems published in journals including Agenda, Iota, The Interpreter's House, South, The Stinging Fly and Obsessed With Pipework.  She has been shortlisted for the National Poetry Competition and The Templar Poets Pamphlet Competition, and been awarded prizes or shortlisted in many other competitions.  One of her short stories was published by Commonword in an anthology called Bitch-Lit, and an article of hers appeared in the TES. Louise was born in South Yorkshire, where she currently lives, but she has lived in Greater Manchester, Northamptonshire, Kent and London.  She has taught GCSE and A Level English - and Creative Writing - in schools and colleges throughout her career and currently teaches  in a private tutorial centre.  She is currently working on a fantasy novel for children.  

 

 

 

 

Ice Chair

 

 

Some created swans, outsized trilobites, glinting snail-shell

spirals, fish unnaturally arched on pedestals - but one carved

 

out a chair of ice. The struts of its ladder-back brand your

naked skin. Its hoarfrost arms claw the folds

 

of your waist.  Its legs are turned, ice-dust in their grooves,

paddling in pools of melting spoondrift.  The edges of its seat

 

blur with the heat of your thighs.  Metamorphosis.

The crowds edge past, slip on rain-slick cobbles

 

down the narrow alleys of this ancient town. It is

November-dark, a mist of fitful snow pumped

 

from an upstairs window -  we’re stepping in and out

of Christmas. Men in scarves sell chestnuts, a hog roast

 

under an awning, beer from kegs in tankards, conjuring

Hogwarts.  Bridget Jones. But none of them see you,

 

naked on your throne of ice, the mottled plinth beneath

your feet barnacled with sequins of frost, baking

 

your toes blue. Twists of movement slither as your fingers

knead the chair’s bent arms, burying themselves in snowflakes.

 

 

 

©2017 Louise Wilford

 

 

 

 

 

 

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