The knowledge of now.

She sat at the kitchen table with a wine glass and all the what ifs, what weres and what could’ve beens floated in the glass and the bread began to rise. She thought about the summer of 1956. But actually it was difficult to picture much more than a blur of an album of photographs. … Continue reading The knowledge of now.

Polaroid Beneath Tissue.

  A vast and beautiful sadness must have unfolded overnight, because when he awoke in his jumbled sheets, there it was, imbuing everything, and he found himself wondering of her return. Wondering would she be the same? Would she appear to be younger or (somehow) older? Would the tangerine fringe she favoured of late have faded, becoming less lustrous; … Continue reading Polaroid Beneath Tissue.

a sort of masterpiece.

  in an oaked corner of wild field, unzipped, I spilled into a belfast sink at the foot of the fort on Old Rothbury hill, a less than generous piss without thinking -   a skein of hinny spittle and skinny sheep disease, stagnant spring rain, latticed silver wings, windfall twigs and orange leaves and, beneath this scum … Continue reading a sort of masterpiece.

The Beguiling.

The bay cradled The Hungry Gull, rocking her gently from side to side and Ffooks, his baritone, berceuse, just beneath the pitch of the engine, wooed her. Knott couldn’t make out the words or the tune just yet but, as the town faded, everything settled into a rhythm - the motor, the motion, the timber … Continue reading The Beguiling.