My latest piece for Dear Damsels – which is not, for once, a poem! – shares the story of the ice cream van that made me cry on a regular basis during lockdown, and the hope it eventually brought.
Each memory I make is usually plated up with some sort of delicious dish.
Since we're staying safe inside with nowhere to be, and perhaps often very little to actually do, we don’t really have that excuse of busyness for our terrible timing for texting back. We really are always available now; and never has there been a more vital time to stay connected.
Spring is all about movement: springing forward, and springing up; new life, new beginnings, moving on, growth, freshness. Even its synonyms are mobile: elasticity, bounce, hop, bound.
It’s ironic, then, that this year's spring is defined by stillness.
The start of this month marked the milestone of living alone for a whole year. Here's what those last twelve month have taught me.
When it seems like everyone under the sun turns into the Lord or Lady of Christmas Cheer at this time of year – when all you see are adverts full of excess and happiness and excitement and magic – it's so hard to accept that you're not quite feeling it this time around.
We have been brought up seeing poetry as this thing to take very seriously; a high-culture something to think deeply about. And so many people don’t think it’s for them.
I don’t think that’s the case at all. It’s time for this to change.
I've got a confession to make; I'm tired of this heat wave, and I'm ready for normal service to resume.
And then, suddenly, you’re in the real world, and after two decades of external validation from assessments and set guidelines and standards…you have to work it out for yourself.
Celebrating Valentine's Day as a single woman isn't a sign of weakness, and it's nothing to feel embarrassed about. I should know.