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Laura Potts

Updated: Wed, 11 Apr 2018 11:20 pm


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Laura Potts is twenty-two years old and lives in West Yorkshire. Twice-named a Foyle Young Poet of the Year and Lieder Poet at The University of Leeds, her work has appeared in Ezra Pound’s Agenda, Poetry Salzburg Review and The Interpreter’s House. Having worked at The Dylan Thomas Birthplace in Swansea, Laura was last year shortlisted in The Oxford Brookes International Poetry Prize and nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She also became one of The Poetry Business’ New Poets and a BBC New Voice for 2017. Laura's first BBC radio drama Sweet The Mourning Dew aired at Christmas, and she received a commendation from The Poetry Society in 2018. She is currently an editor at Write Out Loud.


Sweet Autumn And years later, you at the bus stop. Yesterday's leaves in your hair. The seat where we laughed. Our words in the air. Sweetheart. The years threaded up our names scratched on the glass. Rain argued away the grass-stained fingerprints, the love turned over on clumsy tongues, the moonbows, the flimsy suns. My skin soft-tossed in sheets, hard-kissed. The taste of your words. The clench of my fist in the deafening dawn. Oh day, when the pavement rolled beneath our feet. Bubblegum from the shop. My Monet mouth, your Friday chips - Stop. Darling, how we used to crease at the waist. Pink and white laughter poured from our lips. And when I meet you at the curb of my sleep it is when we were here, my heart in your hands, your hands on my dress. They said you spilt your filth down telephone wires. Cheap love. Sex. I wouldn't know. I walked away. Like this. Yes.

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