This Is Not Your Resurrection

And yet –

cool lips press to colder ivory

as though to bestow 

a sweet benediction; 

Continue reading “This Is Not Your Resurrection”

Apple Pie

Mum had a habit of eating the entirety of an apple. The peel, the fruit, the core; all the apple would disappear. The first time I saw her leave an apple core unchallenged, Henry had made a comment, a jibe trying to be a joke that didn’t quite pay off. Henry was always doing that – trying to challenge my mother, to unsettle her. But in his passive aggressive cunning, he didn’t notice the way her eyes glazed over, and how, like hitting restart on a computer, she’d shut down for a short time before putting her face of normality back on and delivering a similarly sharp retort that snapped his neck to the ground with embarrassment. Mum was always doing that – trying to put him in his place, pushing him out of our circle.

Continue reading “Apple Pie”

Selling Myself

I stand in the corner of the room with my mum, polystyrene cups in hand, and five minutes late. When we got here we situated ourselves in the corner, hoping to ignore the loud and enthusiastic chatter between parents, children, and tutors. But other than participating there’s not much to do but watch, so I do; listening as people talk openly about their writing, or … Continue reading Selling Myself

Writer’s Block

The little black line keeps winking at me. One. Two. One. Two. It’s annoyingly slow, like I’d expect it to be quicker, more impatient, more demanding. I’d expect it to match my current anxiety. Instead it takes its time. One. Two. One. Two. Calculating. Menacing. What is it even called? I google it. “what is that annoying black line on the word document called?”. “T … Continue reading Writer’s Block

I

I see a ring a slab a loop a globe a tassel a drop light   I am the age of the underworld the depths of the world the sigh upon laugh the dark upon light the veins in the brambles the skeleton in the thicket   I take flower-beds out of sunlight eye-holes with my fingers fish-scales through the chink tree-tops from the shadow … Continue reading I

What If Planets Grew On Trees

What if planets grew on trees? Towering trunks made of time, a thousand histories yet to be lived, all creaking under the weight of the fruit blossoming in this celestial orchard.   How long did God peruse this garden that had the stomach for infinite Edens before he found the perfect planets for our solar system? What mattered to Him most? The colour? The shape? … Continue reading What If Planets Grew On Trees