Christmas is in the air. You are given into my hands out of quietest, loneliest lands. My trembling is all my prayer. “Five Days Old” – Francis Webb Given Poolside baby showers herald the summer pregnancies. Sweat caresses swollen knees; mothers tally labour hours; giftwrap is everywhere. Christmas is in the air. But by the … Continue reading
I prefer (wish list for autistic primary schooler) serious illness to surprises computers to my brother reading number plates to Christmas morning straight lines submerging my ears in a warm bath to waterslides deep fat fryers to matchbox cars torture to haircuts libraries to birthday parties standing ankle-deep in ocean tenpin bowling to climbing … Continue reading
They used to be joyful the pictures of babies used to pertain to me. But today my belly is swollen with portent and I note with unease that my haruspex is a man. Female seers are reserved for life and I am an obedient bag of death, viscera spread on the gritty screen waiting to … Continue reading
Poem and Dish 