A muscular fist punches a hole through my chest.Why so scared? Why so scared? Why do you always want to be missed out, skipped over, anonymous? Why make choices that no one will ever see, comment on or know? Here I am still trying to break my arm in The Door rather than speak. I slam myself …
Why do we become who we become? I puzzle over this a lot. Fixated that I could’ve been better, done better, achieved more, ‘if only’, ‘if only’, ‘if only…’ Who were you supposed to be? Apparently, who we become isn’t just a matter of nature or nurture. For instance, murderers and psychopaths are both born …
I saw the birds perched in a tree at the end of the road. Black bird shapes on black branches, settled in silhouette against the cold white winter sky. I count 10. I think there are 10. What is in their minds? I know birds cannot be said to have consciousness of self in the …
the crone 