Wednesday, June 30

Tuesday, June 29

head stuffed with cotton wool until I stop and listen

Monday, June 28

blackbird

fished out of the pool, he huddles on the lawn, forlorn. time passes. we fear the worst. just as we pronounce him doomed he scuttles across the lawn and back into his life.

Sunday, June 27

dusk

pink orchid blooms tilt into purple against the inky sky

Friday, June 25

Thursday, June 24

Wednesday, June 23

the distance between them turns their skin; their insides are scorched by the air

Tuesday, June 22

they were worried about me. they saw my car but my curtains didn't open all weekend. i feel blessed.

Sunday, June 20

I want to hide with my caramel ice-cream. They have a party on the grass just outside my room.

Friday, June 18

motorway services: swarming with men in fatigues and coachloads of girls

Thursday, June 17

brilliant blue on the wing of the jay beckons me into the world

Wednesday, June 16

One bad runner recognises others and feels their pain

Three red-faced school children puff their way slowly through Pangbourne. Always at the back.

Tuesday, June 15

noisy cat

he settles down, finally, and gathers his brush tail in towards him.
next to him on the carpet, a small brown leaf with a curled stalk.

words from a song

driving alone, I say them out loud and taste their deliciousness: flushed chest. flushed chest. flushed chest.

Sunday, June 13

Kaspa, Tara and me

We walk through the corn. The stalks glint grey-blue. We argue about whether this colour could be called 'slate', we talk about how slate looks after rain, each of us seeing it differently. The fields and this hot hazy afternoon go on forever.

Saturday, June 12

at the dinner table

where am I? who are these people? wherever I am, they are just human beings like me.

Friday, June 11

we laugh about going mad. we have this luxury. even so the laughter is tinged with fear.

Thursday, June 10

sun rose

fuschia-pink crinkled petals around a yolky splodge
one day we will plant them in our garden

Wednesday, June 9

what can I tell you? i live with the question awhile

Tuesday, June 8

the garden freshly soaked, birdsong beckons me into the day

Monday, June 7

I'd like a large Sprite please.
Would you like a drink with that?
A drink?
With your fries.
Oh, I'd like a large SPRITE please.
Oh, a Sprite.
(brings large Coke)
Is this a Sprite?
Oh, a Sprite.

Sunday, June 6

just two people and two pots of tea underneath a tree.
sun trickled through the leaves and soaked us in love.
We watch and watch the dots until they gloriously transform into bald-headed eagles.
Every one of us wants to be wearing the glove.

Friday, June 4

sunny morning, full of promise

front door propped open with a shoe, letting the drunken lily scent out and the outside-air in

Thursday, June 3

blown dandelion clocks release their precious cargo, each seed swaddled in gravity-defying silk

Wednesday, June 2

sunlight
crests the ripples
which describe the
endless eddies
in the body
of the topaz
swimming pool

Tuesday, June 1

Melted butter-pool remnants of toasted cinammon bagel breakfast:
Fatty licks the set-down-on-the-carpet plate clean