Bonfire Night

“Remember, remember the fifth of November,  gunpowder, treason and plot.  We see no reason why gunpowder treason  should ever be forgot!”  The first verse of this nursery rhyme rings in my ears as clearly as it did the day my mother taught it to me. And this song returns once a year, as she and

Memories on the Train

On the train I move at birdish speeds. I see buildings blur into living embers, points stretched into foreign conversation and foreign frames and the infinity of presence upon my sight. And the train too is looking, spawns a second set of eyes, mirrors me in its glass. My doppelgänger in the window glides in

Encyclopedia of Stray Knowledge Gained During Quarantine

Locked up in my home for the last several weeks, I am missing the banal ecstasies of waking up next to the person I care about. Touch is impossible at the moment, as is casual conversation and the simple pleasure of being in a room together, quietly enjoying their company. Romance is replaced by the dull ache of missing someone: their bed, body, and self. Touch and companionship are gentle necessities, often forgotten or neglected until everyone in the world is feeling forgotten and neglected, and then we’re reminded how much we need each other.