About the Poem
About the poet
Born in Birmingham, England, Cilla McQueen moved to New Zealand when she was four years old. She...
Not the tin shed in the empty section
nor the immediate white cat with the patch
on its side like a hole,
but the imp in my eye his eye spat.
Imagination closed on it
quick as a fist, a black spar.
It queers my inner sight.
It cannot be dissolved by time.
‘An Imp’ © Cilla McQueen 2005, used by permission of the author and the publishers. Recording from a private recording: Cilla McQueen reads from Fire-Penny and Soundings (2011).
Sponsor this poem
Would you like to sponsor this poem? Find out how here.