In Other Words

The moon was pale and wistful when you asked me, softly, of the moment when I first knew that I liked you, whispered with all the hesitant curiosity of one so very nearly terrified of the answer. Yet still I gave you an answer, murmuring a memory of when I sat in silver, silent stillness on the bus to Galway, unable to think of anything but you. In truth, however, I think it came far, far before –– perhaps in the wild laughter as we ran through the wayward, raging autumn rain, singing to the sweet caress of Frank Sinatra in the cozy warmth of your rosy kitchen –– the moment we began to see each other as more than all we thought we were, lost in oversized, borrowed jumpers and endless cups of lemon tea.


Helen is a poet from Dublin with a nervous disposition and a fondness for jumpers and other knitted things. She enjoys writing about the sublime, romantic, and nostalgic –– poetry from life, in all its many forms. When not writing, you can find her swearing at seagulls or hosting tea parties with her stuffed animals, who are all very polite and supportive of her work. She has recently started her own poetry magazine, The Madrigal, and hopes for its success, and has forthcoming work appearing in Spellbinder Magazine. Find her on Twitter @rosemaryandwool or @madrigalpress.

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