Kyrie:My children play-make a cardboard car in their bedroom while I clean. The floor carries the debris of theirresurrection-opened chocolate shells and those aluminium grave clothes. Soon the robovac will scan the timber boards for any forgotten remains. Meanwhile I switchwet and dry laundry while I spythree discarded palms shaped in deathscattered on the tilesContinue reading “Three palm crosses in the laundry: An Easter poem”
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The Consolations of Writing 