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Spiky Heels


1 Minute Read

I snuck back home
Like a cat
Through back alleys
Shiny with rain
Crept back to my boys
Noiseless, past bins

Spotted the odd cat
Slinking off round corners.
My shadow switching on security lights
Yellow, wet patches stretching ahead, then
Gone, they switch off, fade to gloom.
Unheard, unknown, untroubled,
Home.

And the high heels?
The click click click
Sharp reminder that a lone female
Is out at night, alone
Wending whither to wherever
Feeling vulnerable in the back alleys
Of a neighbourhood called home
Now
Dark and deserted.

So
No high heels.
I like my anonymity
Doing my thing, being who I am
Undetected
Without the dead giveaway
The difficult to wear, anyway
The penalty points
Those spiky heels.

The disadvantage of the enforced swivel
The forwards tip
The concentrated balance
The focus
The tell-tale
Click,click,click.

Forget running
Forget competing
Forget being comfortable
Forget feeling chilled
Laid back
In control.

Fucked, basically.
In spiky heels.

Rose Wylie: ‘I want to be known for my paintings – not because I’m old’ | Art and design | The Guardian


8 Minute Read


She didn’t get her break until her 70s, but the world now can’t get enough of Rose Wylie’s blissfully unruly paintings. On the eve of her solo Serpentine show, the artist shows our writer round her Kent cottage – then dabs her down with turps

Read the full story here: Rose Wylie: ‘I want to be known for my paintings – not because I’m old’ | Art and design | The Guardian

La Tempête


1 Minute Read

Napoleon planted these pines,

the soil is sandy but not a beach.

I want to lie down,

stare upwards like a child

who hasn’t had enough clouds.

The watery landscape keeps me upright.

On cherche les oiseaux,

mais on n’entend que les chants.

The sky deceives itself.

We talk (my French friends and I)

about how to inhabit the truth,

to sink our teeth into ice-cream

without fear of incrimination or shame.

We sit with gratitude on a fallen trunk,

taste different sorts of apples,

note the sour and sweet preponderances.

 

There is an ending amid a swamp,

tears escape in a storm.

Brambles, bare feet, endless water.

I am scared.

My friends, my parents become.

This vulnerability is unmapped.

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