ProcessI have two stories tonight. One, this one, is of desire. Desire of and for the open sky of deep yellowing fields of too-long grass and…Jul 23, 20211Jul 23, 20211
Two months since mummy died.Is what I wrote twelve plus twelve hours ago (and some), in a notebook I had dragged with me to the park, where I sat in the sun and cried…Jun 6, 2021Jun 6, 2021
i suppose now is when i miss her mostLooking at the sinking branches of a weeping willow, I am reminded of Barthes, who wrote of the grief he bore after his own mother’s death…May 31, 20211May 31, 20211
When the talking stopsthe call of the cult of grief compels me to tug my little boat to the grainy shore and row back across the muddy waters to the day that…May 13, 2021May 13, 2021
Some notes from walkingWalking with my father I notice that the trees are playing dress up with exploding puffs of blossom slipped on to spite the retreating…Apr 23, 2021Apr 23, 2021
What do you do when they die?Some things I wrote down before my mother’s funeralApr 23, 2021Apr 23, 2021
Love love and love foreverAs I write, I feel keenly the unreal proportions of living. I am looking at my mother, who lies on a beige, many limbed bed in the centre…Apr 1, 2021Apr 1, 2021
Mother’s DayFive weeks ago, a palliative care doctor told me that my mother probably wouldn’t live for three weeks longer. She said that each night…Mar 15, 2021Mar 15, 2021
