From Caitlin – by Laura Potts


After you, my lighthouse hope, who made a bonfire of my eyes,
the city streets grew old, and I like a lamp candled pale in the cold
coal night, who saw your spotlight glow and flail
here in the crag-black winter of Wales; I who brought to your door
the Irish moors, and London’s charm, and the wheeling, laughing
shorebirds of Laugharne, and made town bars our drama’s stage,
and aged a decade when you played away with city girls
and corner whores; I whose garden full of fruit, folding infants
in our bed, bled hot tears at two a.m. when morning
didn’t bring you home again; I, with the red slits of my eyes,
who saw in evening’s cups of light your hunchbacked bent bowed
head, a celestial star, when your words rolled far across miles,
and your eyes in the windowlight took the crack from my smile,
like a movie played in a firefly night; and I, once the lover
whose name you carved into stone, find the winter’s old cold
teeth now blunt in those first frost flakes of November, the annual
month I remember your bones, still gold, in that American bed.

Dead ten years. And still I doubt when in those great Welsh walls
they ring your passing bell, Dylan, did I know you at all?





Laura Potts is a Yorkshire-based poet and has twice been named a Foyle Young Poet of the Year. In 2013 she became an Arts Council Northern Voices poet and Lieder Poet at the University of Leeds. Currently Editor for Creativity at The Yorker, you can follow Laura on Twitter @thelauratheory_

5 thoughts on “From Caitlin – by Laura Potts

  1. I loved Caitlin’s story, as told by Laura. (Also, respect to any poet brave enough to attempt to mirror Dylan Thomas’s rich, scary, biblical, violent, no-holds-barred poetic voice. No hope of complete success but this comes close enough to have earned a gold star. : )

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: Winners! May Poems of the Month | Algebra Of Owls

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