poetry to learn to love again.
"and i would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more." -- kafka.
(2019).
the buddleia had grown as tall as the trees, clouding over the living room window with soft white panicles. hundreds of butterflies crowded over us to taste the flowers, ladies painted in summer colours, fanning their wings like light scattered through stained glass. they came home to rest on the granite, warm on a summer afternoon.
a deer wandered by the apple tree as we looked through photographs, poplars swayed high above us: we collected wood for a fire opened the shutters and mopped the linoleum.
we changed the covers of the settee, red to yellow, for the last time. i buttered bread and laid the table on the patio -- listened to the sounds that had found their way into my bones long ago. the sky turned pink: i squeezed my mum's hand and wished for a change in the breeze
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