“How is your garden?”
You ask,
Munching your crostini
Green: the trees are tall and offer me welcome shade on days like today, I reply
Two forests and a river appeared at the foot of the stairs of the flats where she lived.
‘You are not normal,’ you tell me
‘I am normal’ I reply, thinking: I am not normal
I have stumbled through life vaguely, in parallel to normality and to conventional rules, never quite rebelling in an interesting life-defining way.
Lucy: Hi! John, isn’t it? Hi! The kettle’s just boiled. Are you having tea? Coffee? Can I pass you something?
We were feral. Our days were filled with adventures. While our mom worked, we’d slip out of the window, away from under the watchful…
If I were a tree I definitely wouldn’t be a Silver Birch — tall and glamorous, aloof, turning the admiring heads of passers-by…
It was the dark that she dreaded. At night when she drifted off to sleep she saw the woods, she smelled the leaves and the moss, heard the birds’…
Bippity bip. “Don’t forget me”, sang the fridge, too chirpily given the circumstances. Despite its calls for attention, the milk…
