Month: June 2015

Poem For The Weekend #35

I needed, for months after he died, to remember our rooms— some lit by the trivial, others ample with an obscurity that comforted us: it hid our own darkness. So for months, duteous, I remembered: rooms where friends lingered, rooms with our beds, with our books, rooms with curtains I sewed from bright cottons. I remembered tables of laughter, a chipped bowl in early light, black branches by a window, bowing toward night, & those rooms, too, in which we came together to be away from all. And sometimes from ourselves: I remembered that, also. But tonight—as I stand in the doorway to his room & stare at dusk settled there— what I remember best is how, to throw my arms around his neck, I needed to stand on the tip of my toes. – Laure-Anne Bosselaar

Taking note of wonder

Tonight I unlocked the back door as soon as I entered the house, watching shards of sunlight slither across the grass like the smooth yellow of butter melting in a pan. The sandals were hastily unbuckled, before I stepped gratefully through the cool slicks of lawn with the watering can heavy in my grasp. Sometimes, at times like these, it strikes me how much of life – when you look hard enough, squint a little – is laced with wonder. How these fleeting moments – the curve of the water as it slides from can to black earth, the dusky perfume of the roses, the tomatoes maturing with each passing day, the happy memories laid around this garden like stones – are the marrow of life, small and momentary though they may be. A spider scuttles beneath my feet. A lupin, mauve and gleaming, sways in the wind. I take another breath, an everyday wonder all its own. My mother’s clematis blooming. His hazel eyes that could, alone, contain the universe. The cool glass of cordial, its condensation wet between my …

Ex Libris | This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You

Ex Libris | A new series featuring recent reads.  Written by? Jon McGregor In a nutshell? Elegant. Thought-provoking. Unsettling. The debrief? These stories are about the moments when life changes in an instant – tiny events that uproot and alter lives forever. Anchored mostly in the unadorned landscape of the Lincolnshire fens, the narrative voice is as bleak as the white wide sky. Deceptively chatty, it soon prove itself unreliable, haunting, unsettling. There are no happy endings here. No symphonic finales or dramatic literary coups. These are quiet, ostensibly simple stories – arresting in their own plain and subtle way. More about what is absent, left unsaid, than what is, they left me wondering. I can’t stop thinking about them. Buy or borrow? Buy. You’ll want to return to these stories over and over again. They’re the sort that age well, like a good wine or fancy French cheese – they ripen with each re-read, revealing their depth over time. A quote to end on: “And sometimes it happens like this: a young man lying face down in the ocean, his limbs hanging loosely beneath him, a …

City Slicker | Guide to London, England

Today City Slicker returns after a brief hiatus, featuring none other than our island’s great capital. Our city slicker is my long-time friend (13 years and counting!) and all-around inspiring lady Priya, born and bred in the big smoke and currently working for a migration start-up in east London. She’s a stylish, indomitably kind, book-loving Londoner who always has a stellar recommendation for tea and cake up her sleeve and never says no to an adventure. So, without further ado – Priya’s London… Q:  How did you end up in your city? I was born in London and grew up in a suburb on the Metropolitan line on the outskirts of the city (with Louise by my side!) My parents were born in Malawi and Kenya respectively but moved here in their youth. That’s the charm of London, where you can find a history of many different cultures. Q: What’s the best season to visit your city, and why? Spring. Walking around the city with blossoms on the trees and on the sidewalks. You can have a warm day …