Category: prose
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15 Aug: Prose #FFFC
Another Song A passer-by offers confetti cubes of stale bread, casually thrown into the thicket of wings, and the air is trampled. What does it mean, all that hysterical noise that shakes the air, those elbow wings cutting sunlight, and enfolding space. Birdsong echoes against the clouds. Shrieks that cling as if by claw. Its…
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14 June: dVerse Prosery
Prosery Thinking There are places I’ll never reach because my feet ache, and there are mornings when I see a sunrise and it feels ancient and seamless, and it saddens me to see its oxygen-rich colours bleeding across the world, and sometimes the sound of new day reminds me that I’m minus one more, and…
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1 June: Sanctify
Sanctify I remember our last goodbye. A small slip of a tear between us. A kiss on the cheek. Yours felt surprisingly cold for a scorched autumn day, and I remember the blue-eyed sky, the old orchard, apples that fell like red hoofs thundering on the ground, and sunlight was my eternal joy. I have…
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21 May: 2Cellos & Playing at the Ritz
2Cellos and Playing at the Ritz Mum paid for my piano lessons, but I paid for them with fingernails clipped to the quick (a classmate said, Eeeow, you chew your fingernails. No, I said, I play the piano). I practised two hours a day. An hour before school, and an hour after. The piano was…
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V.1 C.3 Tooth Fairy
The tooth fairy came last night, and left me loose tooth money. I might stop doing chores for money. I’ll just wait for my teeth to fall out. Why … V.1 C.3 Tooth Fairy
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16.02.22 dVerse Prosery
Fish Moon New Year’s Eve means cod. Always has. Alway will. So we head for the harbour. The whole family, and a few who aren’t, squeezing into the old Volvo, always bits of Pop’s job in the back. Trowels rough with mortar, buckets, crusty boots, white overalls. Pop’s a bricky. Bricklayer. Muremand. We race down…
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And Suddenly It’s Monday
AND SUDDENLY IT’S MONDAY Pick a childhood memory, he says. “Beatles. Hello Goodbye” I don’t even hesitate. Late 60s are vivid in my head. It redeemed itself as timeless, I tell him, and it was playing as the turkey roasted in the oven, bread stuffing spilling out and on the verge of catching light. And…
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#SoCS A Stream of Consciousness: Chickens
23 December 2021: Even if it’s naked, you can tell a chicken from a duck, even under all their feathers, they’re all and entirely chicken. All those relevant bones, recognisable remains, every scrap, always recognisable as a chicken, not a duck. Poor deliveryman. Embarrassed by it all. Said there hasn’t been a duck in the…
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Reflections on a Corner
A Stream of Consciousness – Reflections on a Corner Dad said, the piano goes in the basement. It was the noise – the rhythmic low notes banging like enemy fire against the bulkhead. We were kids; mum explained it was to do with the war. What war, we asked. We were kids –…
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13 December: A Stream of Consciousness
Mike just walked by. He has a fistful of Christmas cards. I’m washing lunch dishes, looked up, and saw him. He nods. I guess we’re not on his Christmas card list this year. Actually, we never were. Give one to get one, I can hear my mother say. She had all sorts of wisdom packed…
It's Still Life 