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26 Dye I am equally full of rage that she cannot love the things I love, the things I might rescue first from a fire. I grieve, unreasonably, that she is blind to the beauty of words. But, never mind. We put down Billy Blue Hat and take up Odysseus. The bridge may be broken but it will be mended and, in the meantime, I’ll carry her on my back, through the torrent, to the world of the imagination.
page 33
Moniza Alvi Writing at the Centre I’d Thought the Words Might Come Streaming Out but no, just a few, precious few – like drops from an almost dry sponge, or sparks from a half-extinguished fire. Words on that perilous journey from heart and brain to pen. Or impacted in the body. Words assembling themselves in a small way. The pain of Broadmoor, a third of my life. Or Dad, why did you kill yourself?

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26

Dye

I am equally full of rage that she cannot love the things I love, the things I might rescue first from a fire. I grieve, unreasonably, that she is blind to the beauty of words.

But, never mind. We put down Billy Blue Hat and take up Odysseus. The bridge may be broken but it will be mended and, in the meantime, I’ll carry her on my back, through the torrent, to the world of the imagination.

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