Island Fiction I could murder a cuppa mutters a knitting voice, her claws purling patterns the Fair Isle way. The kettle whistles, the brew as warming as a jumper - outside gulls rock n' roll drunk on a burgundy sky. The winged ways gleam in those...

      The Opposite of Pygmalion She’s breaching the limits climbing the scaffolding hauling herself up poles rolling over the lip of the kick-board. My hands race like a card sharp trying to confuse the eye not wanting to let her off the plinth. I don’t...

      Gift Dark from four, because of the rawness I buy plain chicken and some chocolate, turn back the way I’ve come to the pavement shrine of himself beside an alcove where drunks piss, fumble the sandwich handing it to him, “Here, have this.” One...

      Bus Stop Etiquette We roll up piecemeal, shuffled rush-hour pack in all weathers; fix envious glares into underoccupied kerbcrawl cars blaring rock, pop, classical, duh-duh-duh dance and dumbass ads. It’s Britain so we queue; eyecontactless, heads...

      Snowdrift From solitude to servitude I went: a stepmother’s bane, to maid-of-all-work for grubby curmudgeons. dust     sweep     scrub     sleep How the chores call to me, a broom-brush song that bristles at my hearing’s edge. How grudgingly I...

      A Sudden Shaft of Light My demented mother who doesn’t know me anymore, looks up as I come into the room. Ach - there’s my wee darling Moyra she says, such love in her voice that everything falls away but love. The slate is clean, and I, new born...

      Lullaby for the Child I Will Never Have Sometimes, in my dreams, I sing to you of mice running up the clock, of four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie. I love you too much for fledglings severed by magpies: I found a chick once – feathers...