• Family

    Memory’s Perfume

    Salty sea air. As soon as the scent hits my nostrils, I’m jolted back to the days of high-pitched giggles, knotted sandy blonde hair, smooth skin like sun-kissed pebbles, drawn-out blush-evenings with whispering waves. Days with my daughter, just us, carefree. When she was young, when we were close. Where no troubles existed, where we never disagreed. Ice cream was a must for us both, even in January. A swim was a necessity, though not in January. Days with my daughter, just us, carefree. Now, she’s grown, with a daughter of her own. And I’m grown, with a daughter miles from her home. Days with my husband, just us, careworn.…

  • Friendship

    Just a Piece of Furniture

    He sat on me every morning with his black coffee and newspaper, every afternoon with his cheese sandwich and lemonade, and every evening to watch the six o’clock news. He read to me, stories of adventure and wonder. He talked to me when the loneliness grew heavy and thick like a raincloud. He sang to me, sombre lyrics, jolly lyrics. Some rare days we didn’t see each other at all. He was my companion, and I was his. One afternoon, after a few bites of his cheese sandwich, he slumped so far into me, I could feel the weight of his entire life. He didn’t finish his sandwich. He sat…