Author: Robyn Sarah

And the seed bunches hung in the summer trees on branches that swung in the wind, it was the summer when everywhere you went you heard the cries of newborn …

Poignancy of the discarded. The armless doll that stares from the trash heap in spring, the sagging sofa with the cat-scratched arms, the love-stained mattress in the rain. Inside-out umbrellas, …

As illness makes us live hour by hour, revising our day as we go. As winter plants a great snowy foot in our path. As glass baffles the fly. How …

As a storm-lopped tree corrects its shape over a few green seasons, so time closes around the hole in itself left by the terrible event. (in the quiet room suddenly …