Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2011

Note to Self

by Rachel Powell

Alone, she walks five feet behind herself.
She’s lost herself amongst the crowd just like
A speck of dust amid a giant cloud,
But not the one that lands upon your nose.
Her figure cuts an unassuming shape,
Her footsteps follow in her wake and take
Her on a route she doesn’t know at all.
So old, so frequent, that it all seems strange.
Her pleasure is from freezing wind and rain,
She traps her finger in the door again
And smiles, recalling that she’s still alive.
Not yet expired.

Added: 30.04.2011

Judges' comments on this poem


Sweet, although could perhaps benefit from being a bit sharper. Really like the flow and sounds of second stanza. Good work.


Could do without capitals at the beginning of each line, but other than that good.