The cinema had one hundred seats—empty, all, when we slid in
and roved plum chair-backs for humps of head
in the blood-black sludge of that womb,
There was a film.
You watched it.
I saw images, sometimes,
and felt how it might feel
to feel you rest
your arm by mine,
your jumper hairs vine
By Leaf Arbuthnot
Leaf Arbuthnot is a poet from the UK, currently studying at Yale as a fellow in the French Department. She did French and Italian at Cambridge University where she spent a lot of time writing haikus and editing her college’s arts magazine. She is a cartoonist for the Yale Daily News and regularly publishes her drawings and poetry on her culture website, Londonette.com.