I order tea Called exuberant Waiting for you Bystanders steer Me to mango mist Buttery cloud Without the try How could I know If oolong’s my type What tale the leaves will bring Lost In alleyways We pass Words Like oxygen Drop smiles In cups As fortunes
by Tamsin Smith This poem was written to mark the 10th anniversary of the bombing of Baghdad’s famed literary corridor Al Mutanabbi Street on March 5, 2007. Your voice modulates the radio. And everything near. Leaning, I imagine you, to keep from falling. Wherever we are, we are always up against whatever else remains. As […]Read Post ›
By Tamsin Smith . woman anything but seated plaster only as the kind that heals says write three lines on the day when another keeper of words cites an old world tradition of asking the most helpless thing for protection from grave menace so I suggest we enlist we volunteer army of three ash-grey spoonbills […]Read Post ›
