“Ten calls since morning about work, each time having to spell my name, letter by letter, each time it it becoming ever more alien to me. Outside the kitchen window the orange flash of a Royal Mail postman’s jacket flies by. A letter! I run to the door, hoping it’s news of a job offer, an invite for interview or at least a decision about single mother benefits. I tear the envelope open and out pops a poetry chapbook. ”
(Notes from an Island, 2013)
Sleepless in Ryde
A void separates me from everything
and so I don’t ever go near its edge.
FRANZ KAFKA, DZIENNIKI / FRANZ KAFKA, JOURNALS 1910 – 1923
A speckled iris – a ginger cat on the window sill,
shiny fur on the edge of air
jumping out of itself just to catch a puff-ball.
An Englishwoman descends from a Victorian tenement
Let the walls forgive her daily cursing.
At night, the void opens up, cracking the temples,
full of a child’s cries and whistling ferries.
More edges. Less words.