Grief perches on my shoulder,as I remember you perchingon the windowsill of life,not ready to spread your wings,still tethered by earthly things. Our goodbye was brutal, no words,just an unbidden memoryof swimming at the local pool,your strong hands buoying me. There are times, left alone with thoughtsand memories, when griefsneaks up, a vulgar thiefof quietude. […]
Tag: Dad
On the anniversary of your death
Only a few days away, and nine years on, I recall the luminous hope that opened like a flower in my heart, when you opened your eyes. Death had not got its way. You perched on the windowsill of life, not yet ready to spread your wings, still tethered by earthly things. Hope was still […]
Punctuation of Life and Death
When you lose someone, the world warps: a comma butterfly (settling on a nettle) distorts – flicks open wings to burnish, only to crisp in the sun. When you lose someone, summer colours tarnish; tastes and smells curdle like mouldy blackberries on a parched tongue, and all the while you long to hear their voice, […]
Remembering my dad
Dad taught me to twist with a towel, skip like a boxer with his leather rope, and give my shoes a sapper’s* shine. Dad and I rode together on the 118 bus, watched Dr No and Goldfinger at Streatham Odeon, and danced to ‘Reach Out’ by the Four Tops. His voice was boxing on the […]
writing in north norfolk 