Category: prose
-
4 November: The Suitcase
Mum thought it was a suitcase, but then she didn’t open it up to look, because that would mean spending more time in the charity shop than she wanted to do, just in case some neighbour walked by and saw her – in a charity shop for fig’s sake, so she bought it for a…
-
8 September: for Ragtag Daily Prompt
A Short-lived Conversation About Skulls I have half an ear open, and Mum says, “Don’t underestimate the trouble you can find yourself in.” And I’m watching a bee bump its head against the window, over and over and over again, and I say, “It’s weird, a skull always seems to smile, but a skull needs…
-
16 August: dVerse Prosery
Vanished She’s learning about sound barriers at school. Sound. Speed. Aeroplanes. Red lights on the left. Green lights on the right. Like Christmas lanterns flashing on steel wings. “Flash. Flash. Flash,” she calls out to the hundreds of faces up there. People flying through rain coloured clouds, over roads and Tobermory-colour houses. She watches the…
-
24 June: Off Beachy Head
Off Beachy Head The sea is glassy and warm as if its skin’s been peeled away, and we stand at the top of a hill overlooking the sea. The winds of the world rock us as if a song is working its way out of our ears, some song that would stop us rocking, stop…
-
24 June: A Conversation with a Dog
Day 24: Imagine you could communicate with one animal species. Which species would you choose and what would you ask them? A Conversation with a Dog The dog gives me that questioning look, a tilt of the head, and she says, Youre so quiet what are you quiet about She asks questions without punctuation. Without…
-
27 May: Saturday Stream of Consciousness
A Stream of Consciousness Behind A Poet’s Window Standing at the kitchen sink. Behind a window with blinds. I feel a bit camouflaged. A bit aloof. The view is timeless. Nothing much changes around here, except that the neighbour’s boxwood plant is dying. It’s going bald like Stanley Tucci. I wouldn’t mind Tucci cooking a…
-
12 April: dVerse Prosery
“The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart.” ~ from “Winged Words”, Valsa George You should’ve told me. Your first daughter. Eldest. The one you told, Watch over your little sister. You should’ve told me that you were dying. You should’ve known that I was not a fragile flower. My petals don’t fall…
-
12 March: Rough Sleeping Since
Sleeping Rough Ever Since It was a Saturday, and Adam was having one of those stream of consciousness thingies. Like a dream, but not. He’d returned to paradise. Had a small blot hole right on the beach. Maybe a little caravan, or an RV in need of cheap repair, like in those advertisements that fill…
-
5 March: Stream of Consciousness Saturday
Captain Ahab It’s getting cold, and it’s raining again, and the one-legged pigeon is stood like a moody hiss on the gutter, staring in the frosty window at me as I crunch on toasted raisin bread. This bread’s been in the freezer for about a year, about the same time as when I named that…
-
5 February: This is fiction – trigger warning
The Incident of the Woman from the House with Two Stone Lions The old house was saffron and butter colour, and those cicadas singing in the trees pushed us into manic. Mama had swept the cinders from the fire, left them strewn and broadcasted across the kitchen garden – sweeping the old year out the…
It's Still Life 