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Tag Archives: Aziz Dixon
Walking a rope between school and college, between one day and the next, I think it was my long hair let me down. They pictured a girl, maybe Joan of Arc come to work on the château walls all this … Continue reading
Still hours from home. My metal box caught in the flow, future to past, too close and fast. Red in front pulses as far as tired red eyes can see. I am a red corpuscle, good soldier, my mother said, … Continue reading
Not his sharp tongue today but his handsaw, moods measured with a set square; each plank its knot and growth rings cut to size, wood dumbed to his design, become a drawer or a door not unhinged today but polished … Continue reading
I’m sawing to size logs of dry tears for the stove, to warm my heart, now it’s snowing. ‘They’ve found the body,’ she says, as I come in, but I lost track of which reality this is – Poirot, Colombo, … Continue reading