Sometimes I’m gripped by the flash of a memory, pulled back in time by an object, or a colour, to mornings I spent with you in the half-light, trying to commit the details… Continue reading


We came to your grave on Christmas Day, complained about the rain and placed a wreath by the heather that was growing at your feet, a tribute to you, a memorial.


It’s been gathering dust in the corner, the Fender dreadnought I received as a gift from my parents, now a rusted ruin on the shoreline of my peripheral, forgotten, save for those moments… Continue reading


I can’t bear the thought of sleep; every night I surrender is another morning I wake with that fog overhead, weighing me down, seeping the strength from my bones.

Winter Rose

I used to wonder if I should have brought you flowers, like I was afraid that my words would never be enough.

Tobi Kaye, November 9th, 2016


As a child I remember barbecues in my grandparents’ garden, an alcove by the greenhouse, sheltered by the trees. I remember labour in the sun, my grandfather’s strength, my grandmother’s kindness. Their garden… Continue reading

Shir Madness, October 28th, 2016


There’s a fog forming over the horizon, creeping down from the mountaintops and spilling over trees; a static of the senses, a dampening disease.

Faustina Finnerty, August 3rd, 2016