Breaking the Seal
As Provost, I found myself in that agreeable position rare of antiquarian scholars in that my summer was unplanned. I (in those days of my earthbound hubris, a Prospero of the sciences man can measure) decided on the Purbecks, perhaps playing the links of Swyre Head. Rambles along the Suffolk beaches had lately bored me and I longed for the …
The Rime of the Brackish Mariner
The wind speaks in Roquebrun. A labyrinth pond there I once fished as a boy, where darting, infant mullet kissed a fallen mirror. Away, behind eyelashed dunes, mother languished and father malingered on a Martian beach. Ahead, a choppy fringe of mountains loomed and in between, and all around, the Mediterranean’s zephyr played and urged: This way, not that! And …
Owen Come Home
Sometimes in July, when the wind cries in the right direction, I hear a tremulous calliope sighing across the flats. As a child I would sit out there for hours listening and daydreaming; giving form to my mother’s words. It’s calling to them, Owen, calling to the ghosts of the past; telling them to come and entertain again. I can …
The Heredity of Memory
She hasn’t known me for years; instead of throwing hugs she just casts spears, her careworn face now lined with meanness. It’s hard believing things mother once told me: ‘I’ll love you evermore.’ It started with the bears she saw supping in the gloaming. ‘Four of them, as real as day, with teacups of bone china.’ She speaks of them …
Oh, Jump, and I’ll Come to You, My Love
To run with white horses, white horses, white horses. Oh, how I long to ride them with you. Because the cleats of life have left boot mark scars on my skin, and cast my torn petals to the swine of chagrin. But I still believe after all, I still believe I’ll be dressed and refreshed, tumbled and polished; my thorns …
To Everything a Season
I never thought eBay would contribute to my grieving journey, but then I’d never heard about Mourning Seeds until my browser history and poor privacy settings conspired to start suggesting products I might want every time I opened a browser window. I closed ad after ad (Cribb’s Funeral Services; Eco-coffins; even EZ-Cremain – American, naturally), but the day I finally …
The Reedy Shoals of Havisham
Under a goose moon, he calls amongst the lament of waves, whispering in ripples. Spring arrives once more. Is it really time to start thinking about death again? Everything’s a reminder since he lost her. Yesterday was laundry day for the man that feeds bread to the ducks. He passed his bungalow on Dorsey Road, and did a double-take – …