Somewhere She understood that what pleased her in the written word was the unoriginal fact of fiction. It was the bringing to life of characters, places, happenings, the drawing of inspiration in the real, the surreal, the breath, the heartbeat, in the imagined, the dreamed, the imaginary. It was the game of all that was […]
31.08.2013 7:38
The Writer It is Saturday morning. Everything is still. The birds sit still and sing-song softly in the trees across the lawn. The wind whispers a worn, whistled tune. I have come to know and love this melody. It comforts me in the morning. I open my eyes and see the white waste of the […]
26.06.2013 15:03
Staring into nothing His touch was gentle, his hold was firm, and there was a fire burning in his eyes that she feared would consume her. Heartbeat, drumbeat, a thunderous tandem, a feast with no food, a full cup with no drink. She was ready, but there was nowhere to go. “Prend-moi, je suis à […]
14.07.2009 07:25
Departure Lounge Grantley Adams Her 7:45 flight is late, they just said. Arriving at 8:00, she thinks they said. She hates late flights. She rubs the back of her hand over her eyes and up her forehead trying to smooth out the crease she imagines is there. She’s sleepy. She looks down at her notebook […]
10.11.2008 00:07
In the room of a lover who has become a belligerent brother It has been a year since she’s written here. She has written elsewhere for she could not speak otherwise and be heard. She was the only one who heard what she had said, however. She found her words hidden in a plastic bag […]
04.08.2007 01:59
Standing in front of a mirror in a room in Bellevue She is angry at the woman she thinks she loves. This does not make things easy. She asks herself whether she is making things up in her mind, demanding too much, giving too little. She pauses. The unasked questions crash into each other in […]
19.07.2007 11:33
On the bus to somewhere to pay a fine for a careless man Yesterday it rained and rained. A rain to quench the thirst of one thousand waiting open mouths. A rain to burst into ecstatic rhythms on dirty pavements and rusty rooftops. And then a rain that softly licks the stinging sores that she […]
02-04-2007 18:33
Memorial The record of April. She was at the meeting place of The Organisation. Most people called it church. Not them, they were special. They called it Bethel. There was a quiet celebration going on. It was the memorial of the death of the Christ. She liked the feeling she got when she walked into […]