I’ve thought about fleeing of a Monday, of slinging myself off of the cold shore of Wales. Before the weekend is read its Last Rites. Before the holy boards all settle in the shy Sunday Chapels. And I’ll wear a ribbon, and shiny shoes, and bury my belongings at the foot of the garden. I’ll dig down three feet where we grew marrows, and onions, and ( Read more... )

my rosy red faith, and the handle of the hammer.

i take the tramcar down to the waterfront and pretend i am a mariners' wife, waving a starched white handkerchief from the pierhead for my lover who was lost at sea. and oh, i hear the news every morning. i cry myself sore every mid-afternoon. and a prayer, if you please, for my poor wretched soul! my lover thought of anything but me whilst ( Read more... )

lover your hands look so foreign to me now although i let them undress me countless times and your stature still makes such
a weak woman of me and
sometimes this feels like a forest fire like a bloody siege like watching two of the five continents fall into the sea and i am entirely out of ideas lover i am entirely
out of will.

i left last wednesday for as far as my pocket purse would take me. i kissed goodbye to my father at the coach station on norton street and he told me that he loved me, which is something that we have only begun to do of late. there has always been such stoicism in my family, but i think that something changed between my father and i when i woke ( Read more... )

where the days are barren and cold the nights are heavy and treacherous and i wonder if i'm being punished for something and i wish i could think of anything at all besides you and this blighted state of affairs and all of the things that i don't understand ( Read more... )