Tag Archives: Gareth Culshaw

Let’s Leave What We Can

The stone walls stubborn themselves against the foreground. We empty out what we know and leave the mould to carry on creeping. The windows are openings to a past we must leave behind. The cracks that scarred what we saw. … Continue reading

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Hemmed In

There’s a wall, twelve feet from our house. It’s the boundary wall that keeps the estate from spilling into local hands. The wall fills the living room window, like a bully’s palm in the face of a child. To see … Continue reading

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What Walk Is This?

There’s a house on the corner it looks to have been pushed back to allow the road through. Sheep and rooks are scattered like disturbed pieces on a board game. The world is in the in-between and my view is … Continue reading

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A Third of the Size

The new house is much smaller, like the world has been cut in half. In the living room you can hear socks on the landing scuff the fresh carpet. And door latches click the silence like the first step on … Continue reading

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Bala

The town hangs onto the language like a wood with wind. Shop signs tattoo the road, twist your eyes and tongue. Passers-by and shop owners talk the vowels like river rapids. Cars pull up with revs from another country. Number … Continue reading

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Taking Down the Shed

When we knocked the shed down we gave light to underneath the holly. Two chairs, a table, crumpets, smoking tea, sunlight from morning till evening. Quietness amongst the gardens with the occasional child giggling. A cat walked along a fence. … Continue reading

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Painting Was All He Did

‘Gas and Electric I don’t touch,’ he once said to me as I tried to catch his height. But give him a paint brush and he was away with the strokes. Biting his bottom lip as he cut in, keeping … Continue reading

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