Tag Archives: Ellen Duncan

Remnant

You left a pillow. Nothing special except its feathered insides, lording over its polyester bedmates. I lay my head on it sometimes, softer than the rest, and it moulds to my cheek like you never did. Ellen Duncan is currently … Continue reading

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My Mother’s Mug

            You broke my mug Yesterday             The one my mother bought me. She gave it as a gift                         A going-away present And I pretended, That every cup of tea I drank from it                         She had made me So when it slipped … Continue reading

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