LUPUS IN FLIGHT

There are trees everywhere,  on my shelves.  You could call them books,  or leaves.  Ada Limón says, ‘It begins with trees’ and although som...

I hold my face in my two hands,  and the rest of me falls apart. So I hold my feet in my two hands,  and now I am on the floor. Oh not this ...

Bisan, your cat came to me in my dream. White, yet not entirely - she was real - not as a cloud, she was eating lime. Yes, I was holding a r...

Plugged in or plugged out, no escape. Even the monastery, even the future  of bees - a stranger  even cut down  our trees. We march to its b...

I write my experience in sand this time, wanting it forgotten. Not like last time, every day recorded in verse and flower, a memory scriptur...

  It begins with my mother. Food always begins  with my mother. It tires me when people ask if I can  cook a curry.  As if all we eat is cur...

  I wish I could go back, into the future, and meet my Dad when he was little,  says Raf.   You can,  I say , when you’re older. Meaning tra...

I stumble on a root as I pass the prettiest cottage, the one that makes me look twice, anyway; there's no one around and then, suddenly,...

It takes a long time. I wander for hours, years, miles through countries, continents. Sometimes there is water, sometimes sand. I return to ...

A tiny bowl slipped out of my hands this evening as  I  stopped to gaze at a bird in flight, light streaming from her wings, the c...