I use the blade of a screwdriver to prise off the lid of the tin; a soft pop releases vapours of solvent and resin. I stir with a stick dip the brush and sweep over the boards in long strokes. The liquid soaks into the grain easily absorbed: soon it will harden under the skin. […]
Tell me, Mrs Foster, what does the barometer read today? How do the clouds look? Are they lowering? Can you feel any dampness in the air? Should I take my good coat? Did you notice if the large hole in the track has been filled in? What do you mean the farrier couldn’t shoe Dobbin? […]
It’s not a frozen spoon on your tongue. It’s a mildew eating everything, the path through the forest is pulp. The trees weigh up the bad choice and send a shunt to amputate each leaf. A cataract ripens on the surface of the sun. Still, the moss is more inviting now, soft spires; we could […]
After a night of rain a puddle remains cupped in stone as my bra cups my breast – shadowed perhaps, as the little lake is sunlit – an eye gazing at me with encouragement or irony I can’t translate as I await the MRI’s judgment.
They call her spae-wife, those others, with her lick-spit potions, her do-good healing. Late at night, I’ve eyed her going about busy when the moon splits heaven, cold as glass, and a hare stops meadow-wise with a frozen shadow, eyes like bronze coins against the loaming. I tell them I’ve seen her seek out storms, […]
The aching brown backbone in their porch: a limp prognostical belt of kelp. Further inside, the frozen rage of Grandad’s barometer. Dad would still tap the place its crafty bland face showed a frank dark cone of internal works. He swore its needle swung a querulous millimetre at the back of Rain. I’d pipe […]