Postcard of a Dying Woman
Left elbow up, arm coiled,
hand cups the ball of bone
where spine joins skull;
For a while, my brother collected stamps. Never using tweezers, he casually poked them into see-through pockets, or slid them
under glassine sheets, preserving them in their own microclimate
And the quail puff rode,
as the huffalump strode….
Sometimes I’m consumed
but never more alive.
It doesn’t matter to me if this is the end; the end where squid develop lungs…..
A celebration of the written word: intelligent; thought provoking; humane.
Artistic Director James Runcie introduces his 4th and final programme for Bath.