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Antenatal Classes
[a nativity poem in three trimesters] The First Trimester Miriam’s chromosome in courting spirals Embraces another, such an other — an unfathomable Y. All the junk, viral, evolutionary,...
The Dancer
[For Nat, 3 years old] Morning for me is all about weight. I rise and balance myself on the precipitous edge of the bed, teetering there and staring...
How a tree waits
Leaves don’t fall. Not in any straightforward sense. You really get a sense of this if you watch widely, unfocus that point in the centre of...
An Essay on Lent
I. It’s the time of year when we awake from the drowsy hedonism of summer and jump to our feet, only to glimpse our plans and...
Words Between Us
For Nat, turning 2. I. It seems to me that, given the course of things, years will come when words will be no obstacle but catching each others&...
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