As a girl

she wore thick swimmy lenses

to correct her vision.

Which was meagre.

Prone to migraines

and the blues

she never strayed far

from the tall silence

of her room

or the overwhelming oppression

of her parents. Sometimes she prayed,

something to stop the suffocation,

and the twiddling emptiness

she felt.



A rat clambered up

my wild rose bush

into the kitchen.

It was lean

with a glossy coat

unquestionably pregnant.

I never shivered

or felt repulsed

watching it

tiptoe gracefully

into my world

scent the air

and scramble out.


Shelling hard-boiled eggs

in the pantry,

concentrating profoundly,

humming. These images

stalk me, sadden me.

They are the last remnants

of you, that time shall extinguish



The floor is falling in

from wood borer.

Listen, you can hear them

munch, mouthfuls of pulp,

until the bones of my house

are compromised

and sink into the yielding clay

of this county. Where

I shall also be returned

when my frame decays

into a mush pit for beetles.


There’s always the scurry

for inspiration

before the words flit away

like bats

and I am sat

in a dank cave

clutching smudged fingertips

and guano.

Wisdom, if it comes

in a hundred verses

is random, and

always miraculous.

Sometimes I don’t recognize

its radiant faces.

So I hope you will see,

leaping the hurdles

between my lines,

reading me.


Grandfather bequeathed me

five acres of land

straggly trees, briar bushes and thistles

with a view of the sea.

He told me how sacred

it was: how the cranes came

to the high boughs

in summer. How, at dusk,

starlings rioted in the sky.

The land grew with me.

And I began to see

I held the title deeds

to a small acreage

of heaven.


A fine white dust

accumulates on the couch.

The silence is spacious

since you’ve been gone.

The relations

like avaricious vultures

have picked over your property,

picked you clean.

I shall not forgive

their lack of decorum

which is due to the dead.

Or the weeping maelstrom

at your funeral

which seemed so put on.