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Trigger Warnings I only discovered a couple of nights ago: the film Paul’s mum tried to hide was The Bat People, scrambling to wallop pause when we barged in to ask if we could play footy. And she said No (it was raining) then Pack it in barging about so of course we watched it later, when she popped out – or some of it. For half an hour I sat in fear of all the new fears my mind might shout that night, or others: a wizened me retching my last, then last, then last; my fingers stretching as cold translucence is pistoned through my veins; the blade behind me on each dark homeward lane. 6
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Harrier?   Deergrass and alder and rowan, and roe deer strutting behind them, and wrens everywhere yapping and hidden, and grass of Parnassus spread, dull meadowsweet dead for the year:   lead your mind back and re-follow that trail down from the fields and the fit, frit pheasants, to loop past carr and the oil-slickened water it hung in, retting, gouged through the front   as autumn was carving and taking off summer – paler sun, sharper wind, too-soon dusk reminding us we’d miles to go and time was shortening. Years ago. 7

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Trigger Warnings

I only discovered a couple of nights ago: the film Paul’s mum tried to hide was The Bat People, scrambling to wallop pause when we barged in to ask if we could play footy. And she said No (it was raining) then Pack it in barging about so of course we watched it later, when she popped out – or some of it. For half an hour I sat in fear of all the new fears my mind might shout that night, or others: a wizened me retching my last, then last, then last; my fingers stretching as cold translucence is pistoned through my veins; the blade behind me on each dark homeward lane.

6

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