The sort of place I’ve learned to fear, along an ill-lit inauspicious street, where OPEN LATE beams garish red from one dank shop, which mainly sells cheap whisky, rizlas, crisps that aren’t quite Pringles. A house, mid-terrace. Curling paper sign, home-printed, leaching fading ink says ROOMS. I glance over my shoulder, wondering who might see…
For Christmas I wish you time to be alone when you wish to be alone, time when you can pause to breathe and think and say they do not define you, this does not define you. I wish you silence, because you wish to be silent, not because you are silenced, human touch because you…
In memory of Sue Coombe (1926-2021) It takes a long time until you can turn into a bird. A lifetime. A long life. It helps if you’re beautiful to start with, of course. She was. Long neck, fine bones, mischievous eyes. And glamorous in those old photos. Primed for plumage. She lived a life spent…