Sylvanian Families

you learn to wait for life to happen in your single bunk, gazing up at Smila Stjärna or across the room to the doll’s house you adorned with little hedgehogs, little kettles, little women’s things towards the window where you plan to escape on your brother’s go-kart, ride in rings around the mossy yard, string ofContinue reading “Sylvanian Families”

What have I built?

I suppose it has something to do with the porch where I opened the trinket shop, selling lumps  of gravel and dandelions through the letterbox, or the cockle shells arranged in a witch’s seance  along the edges of our rug, inhaling the smell of settled soot, door shut, waiting for life to happen. Then somethingContinue reading “What have I built?”

Change of Scene

We are christened by a first blizzard –   not the first in our lives but here in this half-year home, where we nested  on the hottest day, in the hottest year,  earth curdling at the top of those stairs.  Now I’m by the window and though  the stairs pretend to go somewhere I’d never guessContinue reading “Change of Scene”

Migrating Season

Fifth time in five years and like always days dragged their feet then sprinted, until with the shrivelled fruit of August I am sweating boxes, dripping saucepans to another crater of this city. Heat bears down, desk fan churns but missing this place? Its panorama of bins, the guy who daily examines his dick, thickContinue reading “Migrating Season”