Tag Archives: Aziz Dixon

Night vision

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

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Red

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

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Fitted wardrobe

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

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Cut to size

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

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The room next door

In the room next door life goes backwards. The child is mother to the woman. Soon she will release all she unknowing knew – whether it is Wednesday, how to eat, what it feels like to control her bodily functions, … Continue reading

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