The pots and pans of childhood stir me.
We made the heads of Styrofoam
so not to be too heavy on their frail necks.
Hearts? Simply-fashioned, from lumps of stone.
An exploration of the impact of literature about eating disorders on readers. TW: Discussion of eating disorders and self harm.
Finding them dead on returning from vacation,
she flushed her six African Cichlids.
The last three nights, I dreamt I was a sail
Lifted, swept and thumped from here to there.
“There’s a certain sort of artifice in my work and the way I use light and scenes because my lighting creates a kind of dreamscape.”
The unconsidered diaries of family life fall open at once favourite recipes,
bittersweet imprints on the page of stained, smeared, sticky memories.
Bellies lined with pyttipanna, we refill our water bottles and stride home from the city centre towards Block 5.
words pass overhead
spoken broken in dialogue slang where South
is said “SOUF”
You scribble on a piece of paper, pausing every two minutes to remember. Your memory isn’t what it used to be. But you try anyway.
We sing the songs filled with sadness,
Songs with lyrics written in silence
I dreamt one night about a bright-eyed young woman with dark hair who accused me of being unfaithful to her. Her accusations were apparently true, which troubled me deeply after I awoke. I had never been unfaithful to anyone but had myself suffered the pain of betrayal once or twice when I was young. I…