He had spoken too much, or was it too little, of how difficult his life was after we lost her – how my detachment from reality had driven him away. I told him again, and again and again – ‘Honey, don’t be silly, dinner will be ready soon and you must dress for company.’ But …

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A Song for the Old Woman

Her worn sandals almost started a friction fire on the dry grass as she skittered up to me. Hair all medusa-like and face flushed like a peach, she screamed of devils and sin and pointed her bony talons right at me.   Mothers with pushchairs on black tarmac playgrounds, and school-kids smoking behind the old …

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