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Click hereThese are cold rooms, now. All the talk is gone,
the well-known voice, familiar stories – all
fast fading now and soon beyond recall.
We sat here long and often, now we go
through his possessions that, without the flow
of his comment, have lost all life, have done,
have lost identity – what's sadder than
a car boot full of stuff once good and true,
now grey, discarded, no more use to you
than junk – until we find among the clothes
a man's long shirt, embroidered, and all those
old stories straightway spring to life again.
...both for what it says, and for what it lets me say. You've built in spaces for readers to see themselves. Lovely! Thank you!
possible heads up, if I find the material, I will highlight some of the neat things you have done, in a vain effort to get readers to think about possibilities in writing. It's a nice warm feeling I get from pissing in the wind and having it land on my feet,