Tag Archives: Phoebe Marrall

Secret Coals

            for my therapist There was no comforting, or warming, when he went away. The leave-taking was short. It narrowed further as the door closed. The sessions rubbed. Reddened and exhausted, my eyes closed over what absence was left me. My … Continue reading

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The House

In wan sunlight, silent, chalked and vined, the house simply was. Like an old woman it bore itself into the morning: fidgeting with pigeons on its roofs, and winking at the light with a pane broken through by some old … Continue reading

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Not Little Girls

It was the year of Kate Smith singing broadly, a big world wrapped around a little world, which would eclipse it in the end. The War came, ungrasped by us children, me at least. Likewise came convoys wheeling past like … Continue reading

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In the Glow of Having Been Obscure

We were the good children of 1944. In those classroom days we were mostly smart, and sat in desks secured in lines. Then some of us went away and settled like dust in different classrooms, eager to be liked, high … Continue reading

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Surrender

There is labor in all of it. Grainy minutes, pinpricks of sun, wayward bugs and words passing slowly. I hunch for breath. Can I not do something? Escape? Brush away aphids, walk faster before the dusk of memories overtakes me? … Continue reading

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Legacy

We came from scraps, pulling slowly away from wrath of spiderwebs and manure powder and the reek of claret. “Destitute” we brought with us, in the remembered glossy wool fiber of the hand-me-down sweater, and old, brown coat of no … Continue reading

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