A VERY short story containing elderly zombies and a fête. Because: why not?
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Sugar
Sugar
winter has come
to our cottage by the sea
the sun sets early
the moon rises pale and cold
and all around
the cane fields char
wafting ash and the stink
of burned molasses into the sky
the night is heavy with sweet offense
and we wake from dreams of nothing
filled with the longing for sugar
Father
Father
You come to the house at 3 a.m. in the cold.
Your mother greets you at the door with no words,
only pebbles in her mouth.
You walk along the dim hallway
to a small room flooded with light.
It contains twin beds, a dusty mirror,
fading prints, dark wood.
It contains the end of the world.
There is a ringing in your ears
as you kiss your father for the last time.
Posting holiday…
Dear Readers Sorry for the gap in posts... I'm on a little 'posting holiday' at present. It's been occasioned by the need to move out of our house while renovations happened. We're back now – with more functional kitchen, bathroom and bedroom, and a vast quantity of dust and general chaos. So I'm in clean-up-and-organising …
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Continue reading Joy is in the making: a note to tired artists
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