The Story of a Superlova
i. Step into the moonlight, beacon boys, the hour has come for us to write. Leave those starless shadows at once; come feel my pulse; the corners are no longer yours – dance, and look into my eyes. Take some time, come sit by me. Let us tease infinity: if we can dance the night […]
For a Mourner
If I’m in the right frame of mind, I can still picture the old Whitechapel. Back then, there were no sleek walkways as there are now, and the current, chic, steel arches were made of sandstone brick, darkened by soot and grime. My father lived in the area from when I was seventeen to twenty-four,
Lección de Cocina
The kitchen is gleaming white. It’s a shame to have to tarnish it with use. You’d need to sit down to contemplate it, to describe it, to close your eyes, to conjure it up. Pay close attention to this neatness, this purity which is not to that dazzling excess that gives you chills in hospitals. [
Under His Skin
I don’t think he knows I’m here, embedded in his dermis. We ended things in a typical rage: “God, you get under my skin!” And I said what now seems to me the line which sealed my fate: “You’d be so lucky!” And, the next morning, I came to, and there I was. Don’t get […]
Mimicry
Mimicry She stoops to worship Mimicry, old, borrowed and belly-full of what has already been the start and end of ideas. She rewrites Genesis with a stale bible; a tea-ringed, deadened […]
At Breakfast
The kitchen tiles are finding their corners in the half-light. In the small flat on the top floor of the house, two women sit at the breakfast table. They’re nurses in the early months of 1933. Two empty porridge bowls have been pushed aside. Two half-drunk cups of tea stand between them on the ta
