Nia Davies was born in Sheffield in 1984. Her pamphlet of poems Then Spree came out in 2012 from Salt.
She will be editor of Poetry Wales from Spring 2014.
http://niadavies.wordpress.com
the day started well enough
the gaudy morning is so much
too much rich malt releasing gas,
the beech deepening its autumn
and panniers of light,
the home-brew kit breathing
a wood pigeons breaking bough,
a back to lean a cheek on
too perfect to write yicky,
especially poems about,
too easily gone in think,
layers of salt gathering, the bottom
of morning to be dropped
out somewhere and I think
of how birds arrive
at their disheveled destinations
and that there’s too much signage
in the way and all that lucky to be alive,
we’re just paddling in a torrent
Blue line
I carry my bag across the city.
But I am not coming home to you.
At an intersection:
the faces of these other humans.
They produce signals.
We are part-suspended swan.
Part blue-veined.
That is all.
I think how the body takes.
And takes.
I am wearing normal clothing.
I am part-scared.
Talk to me of oranges. Valley light.
I am carrying my bag across your old city.
Judging the orange-skin ankles
sat opposite. All across noon,
I am carrying my body,
the viaduct
is crossed by this cast, I have
oranges in my bag. They are
not the same as yours.
I cannot eat them in public.
We cannot just move like this
and like this.
