The hairdresser circumnavigated my mum’s head,conducting a symphony of blonde curls, a pointed, shiny, metal comb in one expert hand,a can of hairspray in the other that turned hair into cement. But I didn’t really watch my mum get her hair done.There was too much else to take in. My eyes were drawn to shiny […]
Tag: Elizabeth Bishop
To My Unborn Grandson
Dearest boy, I am counting down the days and knitting. I am amazed at the butterflies of anticipation, imagining your eyes, mouth and nose, your tiny fingers and toes, the fresh-baked smell from the top of your head. I can’t wait to sing the songs I once sang to your mother, and the ones mine […]
writing in north norfolk 