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Poem: Venetian Glass Clowns
They stand, Rank upon rank upon rank, A comical honour guard Awaiting my grandmother’s inspection. Off-limits to us as children Lest our exuberance Damaged their fragility: We knew who claimed first place In our grandmother’s affections. They were not fun…
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Poem: Stay for Breakfast
They met, quite by chance, over breakfast – A buffet: fruit, pastries and such. Their hands landed on the same apple; Both started at each other’s touch. ‘I’m sorry,’ they said, and retreated. ‘After you.’ ‘No, go on – after you.’ So they both reached again, and they giggled; He knew then what he had…
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Short Fiction: A Hundred Paces
I try to keep my hand still, the apple resting on my palm, so I try not to think of how I loathe him, because the loathing and the anger make my hand shake. Oh, everybody in the village thinks the sun shines out of him…