my writing is slow he is outside working hard not quite Diet Coke hot but still the apple tree is gone the sandpit vanished the patio of stones now a southern facing dream replenished.
You were born in January in Winter’s deep heartland, When darkness walks across the earth and snow falls gently down. This year it rained, a sky of grey. No colour anywhere. I gave you tulips – pouting red – to brighten your despair of growing older. Losing hair. Of skin worn to a frown. Know … Continue reading Decay
Were I young (and not so old), I'd have kids now, not later. I am young (and please don't scold), I plan to terminate her.