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A window pushed up two inches from the sill bright blue crossbars whitened with dust
fresh mortar slopped around a nail in the wall
a single luxuriant drip of white gloss on the new wooden step at the base of the door frame
‘ARGENTINA’ in print on a shiny round label the scarred yellow skin of the pear as she peels it
her grandfather’s moss-shadowed glass-roofed conservatory
pale quarters of ‘Williams’ in syrup with cloves her grandmother’s preserves
gold plums, green walnuts turned black in the jars
º
a crowd of people at the side of the music hall being addressed
then the speaker starts walking holding up a red headlined pamphlet to follow
‘Here,’ he says, ‘The place has been given a bad press a bad reputation — this is the very spot’
and she remembers reading of shootings, of car-jackings lilac-grey clouds coming up beyond the rooftops, like smoke
a mezuzah on a door
dark splashes of rain along bleached-out scaffolding.
Mary Michaels from Caret Mark, 2008, Hearing Eye |
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