The Muse

He was fleeting. He flitted. He never stayed still. He would appear on the subway and in the shop, in glimpses and lingering looks and every time he wore a different face. Scarved in december, hunched into his coat with eyes you hoped were haunted. He had fallen out with his mother, or his brother … More The Muse

After.

She clings like cobwebs to the corners of the room, pieces that once were ‘mother’. Outside, the street lights splinter through the trees and cast spindly fingers across the floor of the bungalow as rain drums a mocking heartbeat against the window panes. It had been light when I had arrived, weary after the wake, … More After.