Rosie Driffill




Snow Globe

Twilight and a snow globe
find her watching. Slow-tip flurry
of chalk flocks a partial scene,
the postcard side; no 80s red,

No hurricane lamps for sale, no
stainless steel, going cheap, then kept
for best. No lonely morning walks
in this little orb.

She puts the globe in her mouth.
She imagines, the flakes dance
as they would, of course, when seen
in twilight hues. But beyond her little mouth

The twilight dies. It does not find
the humps of half-rot carrion, brown-penny stamps
of ulcer, or the anthills
in her ovary.



Rosie Driffill is a writer from Yorkshire. She is as passionate about performance as she is about the written word, and goes gaga for open mic nights. Her debut pamphlet Seeds, which explores nature’s demise, was published in 2016. Twitter: @RosieDriffill

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