Image by Jörg Peter from Pixabay “Those ones?” “Which ones?” Lizzy asks. “On the turntable.” I jab the glass, as if I am trying to attract the attention of the shoes. “I wish they would stop turning round so I can see them…
A Shift in Time Zones
At breakfast, she lays Harold’s place: toast the way he likes it, just turning brown; a jar of thick-cut marmalade. She doesn’t like how the rind gets stuck in her dentures, but it’s his favourite. Her son, Ben, knocks on…
Livingroom in Fading Light
Nothing has moved in the living room since you left. Crispy almond slices in the golden autumn light sit on a plate like pale petals. The afternoon turns into dusk, soft yellow melting into blue and orange flames on the…
The Roaring Sixties
“What’s your name, sweetie?” The barefoot woman in a flowing muumuu smiled as she straightened the garland of flowers in her abundant brown hair. I shaded my eyes through my hand from the bright summer sun to discern the source…
Hands and Rings and Other Things
I stare at the back of my hand, so sun-damaged, resembling stained parchment. It is the same but different. It is mine, but I don’t want to own it. The veins peek out, trailing blue rivulets and my once-slim fingers…
Marginalia
Mouse-like, she lived on the fringes of polite society. She was one of the the overlooked, ignored, unremembered and to others, unremarkable. The last to arrive, the first to leave. “A bus to catch,” she’d murmur, gathering her beige handbag…
