Helen Nugent, Editor of Northern Soul
The Weight of Snow
Eternal winter, and a river
turned black in the last light.
Every surface has a touch
of Narnia, nothing is left half done.
All we are is a warm, damp huff
on the inside of a scarf, a bundled
clumsiness of winter clothes, a sky
like a swan’s wing. So let the dark
come. We’ll light fires in the hearts
of our houses, string lights across
the black. Pike and perch still swim
beneath the ice, trees creak, but hold,
with ease, their weight in snow.