Reflective

  • Missing Anna

    I close the lid of the box and carry it to the kitchen. It feels heavy, which is strange. I only cleaned out the bathroom cupboard. The box contains a collection of half-used face creams, an empty spray can of deodorant and a bottle of pink nail polish. They’re items I won’t use. Does the…

  • Fires of Autumn

    Phoebe loves the smell of autumn; the dying sweetness of overripe fruits and the crispiness of fallen leaves. She stands on the terrace, barefoot, the marble silky cold under her soles. The sun is setting behind the mountains, bathing the landscape in light. Below the terrace, the garden seems ablaze, pebbles burning white and the…

  • Lost Boys

    It was just the two of them now. The rest had gone on to greater adventures. They sat side by side on a park bench, like the winter companions in the old Simon and Garfunkel song. Tootles leaned forward on his walking stick and squinted over at the statue of the boy with the panpipes….

  • Easy Habits

    The fumble and the spark. That’s what I’ll miss. That little ritual. Matches: both cheap and pretentious, a difficult combination to come by. The stick breathes gently on its own, streaming into the air. Its mouth is a little fire. Occupation for my hands and lips, to keep me out of trouble. A calming thing….

  • Sleep Evasion

    Lay down, pull the covers up to your chin and close your eyes. Don’t think about how your roommates drank your expensive beer. Don’t think about how you’re even madder at yourself for not saying something.  Don’t think about the time your best friends bailed out last minute and left you with a camping spot…

  • Summer in the City

    August can be the best time in the city as other people decamp to Umbria or Tuscany, Broadstairs or Southwold. And unlike Paris or Rome or Christmas, shops and restaurants and businesses remain open. But oh, the heat! The glare of it off the usually grey pavements, the cold water in the paddling pool turned…

  • The Pear

    I am leaving him, and it feels cruel. He’s spent most of the day packing my things away, has reached the last room, the sitting room and goes to find another box to fill. I tensely wait for his return, feeling insecure, wondering if he still loves me. The thought is as sharp as any…

  • The Daily Commute

    You are our daily companion. We stand, sway, jostle and lurch. We don’t notice the views you provide as we hurtle past – back gardens with paddling pools and washing lines. At the hub of the City you disgorge your reluctant cargo. Like ants we scurry to our offices, returning hours later to our favourite…