Mother lives in me – her hopes and fears now embodied in my choices, this guilt borne of her suffering… and her mother – who
Hand Holding
Found my first love holding hands walking home from school – grade one. Father’s grip crushed, controlled, warned against disobedience, held on until compliance was
Moss
The past clings, like moss, nurtured by tears unshed, like sap untapped, warps minds, sense of self, craves perceptional shift – a vernal appreciation for
Malevolent
Sensing foulness of mood they slither out from dark places – whirling wisps of putrid insinuation Clever they are, and almost imperceptible but I am
The History Lesson
“Why do we have to learn about something that doesn’t effect us?” the small, blonde student asked me. “I mean, it was ages ago, and
