Black cab releasing its butterfly in a caul of London rain; then vanished amid quicksilver pavements, feet flashing like a newly wetted smile. Later they dance on his tongue like slices of cherry, scratch at the back of his knees with a ripe resonance of scarlet fingernails. Bleeding all other thoughts to grey.
PNSpring2007
Her Shoes
When we tidied her up after the funeral she had twenty-seven pairs of black shoes (some still in their boxes) and a pair of pink slippers. Why did she have so many? We voiced our question in awed whispers, so as not to disturb the past that lay thick over everything. Wallowing in the empty […]
The Farrier
“If you keep a horse right it don’t need shoeing, dry, outdoors, fed natural like, not too much weight on it so there is good muscle and bone; that’s a secret no one will say, not out loud anyway, but a hobby horse kept stalled or not mucked out proper so it stands in bad […]
Photograph of an Iraqi Boy and a US Marine in a House in Ramadi, West of Baghdad
It has to be posed – the scope on top of the battledress helmet – the face in profile like the butt up AK – a finger of the hand that holds the gun points to the business end on the floor before where they both sit The other face is darker – looks up […]
Footprints
You kept a record of my first tooth, first word, first steps. Leaving the house now after all those years, my bootmarks are diamonds in the mud outside your door. Next winter the sole’s lattice will be pressed in the memory of snow, lasting only as long as the thaw and in time my track […]
In Your Shoes
In your shoes, I’d have wondered what I’m like, as woman now, and how I was at school. Did you not ever ask yourself, awake at night perhaps, if I was beautiful or clever, happy, mother now to boys who looked like you, as handsome, tall and blond, or if, for want of funds and […]