Monthly Archives: February 2011

Every time Bernard walks onto a stage, the crowds seem thinner and less readily impressed. They think they’ve seen it before: white rabbits, top hats and sequins. Old-school stuff. He could tell them that they’re wrong, that – think what … Continue reading →

Sadder and wiser, the poet scratches his final lines onto parchment and lays down his pen. One hand – his writing hand – is calloused; the other is clenched and cramped. He leans back into his chair and holds his … Continue reading →

There must have been a time, after his face had rounded out and his skin had cleared, but before his hair had started to vanish, when he was handsome. During his painful teens he had put living on hold, looking … Continue reading →

  The piece was the size of a closed fist. It was made of bronze, but five thousand years in the earth had left it black and dull. It looked like nothing: at first glance, a rock; perhaps an old … Continue reading →