Garret Girl This attic broods Dickensian cold, the spiders moan about the frost. Her little voice wants to be loud, be heard above the creeping gloom. Like a soprano in chapel air rising to hush the cobweb doubt. A hostess flees from her abode, the ballroom of a Danube tune, that weightless waltz of gowns. Her prayer in flame warming the garret ghost. A little voice soars to the clouds. Joy whispers in shivers of spiders.
Phil Wood was born in Wales. He studied English Literature at Aberystwyth University. He has worked in statistics, education, shipping, and a biscuit factory. He enjoys watercolour painting, bird watching, and chess. His writing can be found in various places, including: Ink Sweat and Tears,The Dirigible Balloon, The Wild Word.
Amethyst Review 