There it is again The silence So big it creates a physical presence in the room She feeds silence her cup of tea She sits on her bed and they converse, As she stares at the ceiling. Silence strokes her cheek and gathers her tears. It whirls around her like a hurricane. Somewhere there is more than this. There is noise There is … Continue reading All The Time There Are Things But Not Here
And yet –
cool lips press to colder ivory
as though to bestow
a sweet benediction;
Slippers, apple cores
Plump, warm – her brown eyes sparkle
My pillar of strength.
Long, random strokes, I
Thaw beneath your fingers. Gaze
Grey skies turn to blue.
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.
By Anupam Dubey Continue reading Narenda Modi
“He’s got to leave the cabin soon. Right?” asked Casper. He glanced uneasily at the door to the captain’s cabin and shivered. The rest of the crew was keeping a careful distance from it – and the guest within. “Surely he’s got to come and help us at some point?” The two men leaned on the railing of the ship, facing the field of ice … Continue reading Breaker
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
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 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
