Carina, darling, Someday you will want to know why. People will ask you: What was I like? Was I weird? Forgetting that you were only three and cannot be expected to remember your father. I cannot write to you because… Continue Reading
(London, Highgate psychiatric ward, 1995.) Rosa chokes on a wall of smoke as she enters the TV room. Through the jaundiced haze she makes out 8 or 9 men in plastic chairs, staring fixedly at a screen. Persil Automatic gets… Continue Reading
I’m seeing things again. Head in my hands my fingers weave through tangled hair pushing it back from my face like the headbands I wore as a little girl, when I only pretended I saw things. I’m not pretending now.… Continue Reading
When the phone rings, I reach for the Advil in the bathroom. I know it’s my mother. Sucking in my breath, I close my eyes before I answer it. “Have you written your novel yet?” she asks, with the enthusiasm… Continue Reading