Magnolia walls, all four and counting, breathe with us now, they know us now, so much so our skin begins to match: a canvas on which you compare me to every fruit the supermarket did not have, every flower you haven’t seen, every sunset discoloured by the evening news. Just magnolia is left, off white … Continue reading Magnolia


I keep my regrets in bottles. I store them in glass with tiny cork stoppers and shelve them, and keep them for the days when I prefer to admire my mistakes rather than bury them.   I admire them for the stories they’ve written and the houses they’ve built; for the ashes from which they’ve … Continue reading Bottled

Route 62

Route 62, the pink and purple bus fading like a disappearing sunset, which always passes beneath a lamp which flickers - the orange eye wearing a halo of feathers, the seagulls too far from the sea. Homeward bound - bus ticket in hand, paper turned redundant, used and crumpled, left in a pocket to fall … Continue reading Route 62

Age 25

Last year began as the previous one ended - quite literally and in the sense I still had vast mountain ranges to climb. It’s a metaphor we use constantly but I couldn’t think of anything more apt; anything more deceptive than a mountain peak disappearing into the clouds. A few months into the year, I … Continue reading Age 25


Mother, a green woodpecker floated to the ground today with grace and poise before plucking the soil with its ebony beak, and I thought you would like to know how much simpler life has become, how quiet the weekends are that I notice a bird I’ve never seen before, and watch it for longer than … Continue reading Mother