covering fingerprints of bluetack,
teasplash, the smack of furniture
from moving in four years ago
when moving in felt like the
next step, when
this was new.
I have outgrown it.
I have left the room for you
spotless with
every smudge of me
blanked from the walls.
I leave the house and the keys
in the postbox.
The swifts are back.
They fleck and jag and
scar the air like black daggers.
They pass through.
They have miles to go.
They will clear the sky,
leave it unbroken,
chalkblue
as paint.
Phoebe Nicholson is a poet and lexicographer based in Oxford. Her work has appeared in a number of magazines and e-zines, including The Fractured Nuance, The Interpreter’s House, and Words Dance. She recently collaborated on a chapbook with her sibling about roots, family, and creeping things called Red Devon Mud which can be found here: httpsss://oxfordpoetrylibrary.com/shop/ She also runs the Oxford Poetry Library, a pedal-powered mobile library of poetry operating out of a big purple cargo bike. Find her on instagram @phoebn
Latest posts by Phoebe Nicholson (see all)
- Painting the Old Room - 11th August 2021