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The Old Woman’s Weather
1.310 kWh woke to rain.the roof is under the weather. lunch: the bread’s mouldyso opened a tin. the roof made soup. bread goes in the caddywith the fish bonesand the orange peel. compost. a squirrel is digging a holein the lawn.hiding somethingit will never find again. 3pm: the roof washed the dishesand dried them, too.…
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The Old Woman’s Weather
858 Watts something about a CT clampso this bitcan talk to that bit of electricity. eh? the old woman asksfor an explanation while the roofruns the refrigerator. storage battery99% full. the toiletwon’t stop running. the old woman looksat the roof. roof says, not my problem. — from The Old Woman’s Weather All rights reserved. These…
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08.10: Memory of a Spare Key
The Memory of a Spare Key I am eight, which is very grown up, old enough for my own front-door key. Happy birthday, Mum says, dropping itinto my palm. Keys are power. I know this from the way they danceheavy on chains, keeping time against my father’s belt, from the way grown-ups wear them like…
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Ten Things of Thankful
I. The Pike Thankful to meet a child content with the simple pleasure of fishing. He told me there was a great pike in that water and that one day he would catch it … and then let it go at once. Some dreams are not about keeping what you find. II. Better Late Thankful…
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07.10: A Response Poem
This poem is in response to a Six Sentence Story, Untimely Utterances Part X, written by Nick/Spira. The line of response is: Life & death are the same breath drawn twice. Recurrence a star draws breathin fire,in ash, exhaleswhat fire takes in, again. a first page openswhere the last one closed, dawn lifts the light,evening…
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07.10: A Six – SSC&B Alcove
The Heist: episode 2 “Here, let me.” Aurelia, the nervous poet, unfolds the oldest of the building plan, its paper brittle weak at the creases, enlarged until the lines blur into something between architecture and confession, then taps one narrow rectangle behind the rear rooms.
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06.10 dVerse Quadrille 257
What I Carry Taken from a pebble-dashed beach, this pieceof sharp-edged flint, a gift from his small hand into my pocket — and I carry it around,its weight warm against my hip. It’s as if his hand still holds both itand my autumn heart. Written for dVerse Poets, a quadrille of forty-four words including pocket. Photograph is…
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06.10: Dead Men Don’t Drown
Dead Men Don’t Drown: #9 (catch-up with all episodes here) Episode 9 Dead Men Don’t Drown Clive receives me in the basement office beneath his terraced house, one hand resting on the walking stick beside his chair and the other holding a book against his chest as though it has weight enough to steady him.…
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05.10: The Liturgy
Episode 9 Liturgy for the Lawyer’s Quiet(for the facts that sit in silence) I. The Office That Holds Its BreathFenella steps into the lawyer’s office,a room that smells of old paper,dust settled into the bindingsof books no one has openedin decades. The man himself is elderly,his hands marked with the slow workof documents,his eyes the…
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04.10: The Distance Back
The Distance Back While my little boat moves on its moorings,the day passes in mistand pine-green,and somewhere between the waterand the trees,childhood returns. The world is wide again.Trees grow touch-close to heaven, and in the crystal of the waterthe moon is comforted. There is wind in my earsand birdsfind their perches again, and for a…
