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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