Poem: ‘Interregnum’
Kathleen Jamie, 1 January 1998
So I’m moving between rooms with a tray, advertising McEwan’s, the kind we took sledging those distant snow-bright afternoons
– or funereal lacquer, with peonies, or that classic of my mother’s: a view of Windsor Castle inside a wicker pale. Whatever
– a tray, and on it: two glasses of Vouvray, or better: croissants and cafetière, my lover outstretched on...