Missing

There are times I miss my mother so intensely I feel destabilised. I close my eyes just to see again her familiar gestures and expressions. I am amazed how simply the fact of her existence in the world used to be such a great comfort, even when we hadn’t spoken in weeks, living continents apart. Mostly, these … More Missing

A Final Breath

She came to us from trauma: Born with HIV in her blood, Neglected; withdrawn. She didn’t know how to play With the toys placed before her. Over the months we watched her transformation – Her smile emerged, gradually, Until it would brighten any room With its mischievous spirit. As she learnt to play, To talk, … More A Final Breath

Shattered

Broken shards of glass spread across the kitchen floor – jagged edges glistening, and tiny slivers hiding in shadows, evading my later attempts to make the tiles safe once more for tender feet (how quickly we imbue our human qualities of spite and craftiness into objects inanimate). The sound crashes into my consciousness before I … More Shattered

Echoes

Sitting at the kitchen table working on my laptop after the children’s bedtime routines had been completed and the dinner plates cleared away, I put music on to play as I always do in the evenings, whether to help me concentrate on the task at hand, or provide a soothing backdrop to more relaxing pursuits. … More Echoes