Mum died on December 21, 2018. Six months later, to the day, my wife boarded a plane bound for Abu Dhabi.
Too many other people,
not enough you,
in this museum,
lollygagging at my pregnant grief…
This time next week I will have submitted three poems – alongside a short story and a piece of drama – for the MA. I’ve been advised to be as bold with my poetry as […]
Ignored by his father, Boyd plays truant and walks, for days upon days, until he can walk the streets of Cape Town blindfolded. He walks through the city, out to Green Point, Mouille Point and Three Anchor Bay.
We watch other people’s children
Mourn their futile endeavour,
As feeble dams break and the tide
Takes their cherished castles.
Today I made the decision to expand The Last of Logan to a full 52-card deck. I have been tinkering with with a view to turning it into a novella for the last couple of weeks, but I realised today its USP, and soul, is as a Pokemon card deck.
I have added another six cards to The Last of Logan, an experimental story of childhood grief told through a series of Pokemon cards, which takes us to the halfway point of the piece.
Fifteen minutes after turning out my light, Dad is back in my room. I simulate the breathing pattern of a sleeping child as he lies down next to me and puts his hand on my back.
She smiles apologetically when they meet in the communal hallway each morning.
‘Sorry about the noise,’ she’d said when they first met, her son lurking behind a haircut in the doorway. ‘It’s my thing.’
I kick lazily at the dead leaves and wait for them to file past and offer one last condolence before drifting back to unchanged lives.
The next day: Ring ring. Dad picks up.
We’re watching that fat nanny film.
We watch children mourn their futile endeavour as the tide engulfs their sandcastles. Ellie lies with me as the water laps at our feet and we find his ghost in the clouds.