Imogen Forster lives in Edinburgh. She has an MA in Writing Poetry from Newcastle University, and is a translator from French and Spanish.
January Light
Four o’clock, and the sun
strikes slant into our eyes.
There’s a pond, and a patch
of reeds, rattling their dry
prelude to falling dusk;
in the wind-clang
small flocks of birds,
passing and perching.
Three male bullfinches
drop into a rowan.
Their livery of black,
grey and pink is so
so neat, so clean,
it reminds me of a child’s
wooden puzzle,
cut with a fretsaw
and sanded smooth.
A party of redwing flies
into the wood, rusty flanks
we feel we could blow on
as if they were embers,
warming us into spring.
Imogen Forster
