Malgré sa taille imposante et le feu qui brûle en lui, Zara n’a jamais peur des colères de Zénon. Depuis qu’il est tout petit, elle lui parle d’une voix douce, et Zénon suit docilement ses instructions.
Read MoreIls sont là, bien rangés sur l’étagère de la chambre jaune. Il y en a de toutes les tailles, des petites des grands et longs, des feuillus et des tout minces et de toutes les couleurs, des rouges, des bleus, des verts ou des jaunes, foisonnant de dessins colorés ou remplis de texte noir écrit serré. Hippolyte les aime tous, particulièrement depuis quelques mois, depuis qu’il sait lire, tout seul.
Read MoreMia decided to give birth in the inaccessible remote corner of the entrance cupboard. In the middle of Margot's most expensive shoes. Pierre and Margot had prepared a comfortable place in a warm corner of the kitchen with a stack of old woolen jumpers in a basket. Mia even seemed to like it and sniffed around the basket for a couple of days.
Read More-"Clare, we all die one day" Leon would say.
She found him particularly annoying in those moments. As if nothing mattered.
Since Alex was born, she could sense the shadows. At night they would come in the form of terrible stories; Alex would die in his sleep, swallow one of his toys, fall from his bike, be knidnapped whilts she was asleep. They were millions of stories, like dark birds flying towards her, keeping her awake and terrified.
Read MoreTimeless tunes
Tinkle and totter
As memories - mumble,
Shake and shuffle
Spinning in your eyes
Read MoreFor a long time, you thought the walls were rigid. Hard concrete. Grey. With some yellow patches. Covered with scratches and inscriptions. Some that only a really tall man would reach. Some men are giants you thought when you first entered your new home. Then you realised that they were probably standing on the narrow stool. The men before you. Some writings in languages you do not know. The fact that there are so many languages you do not know gives you comfort. You are well learned and well-travelled. But there is a big world out there. Outside those six walls.
Read MoreInspired by St George and the Dragon, by Jacopo Tintoretto
I bolted towards the eerie array of colourless trees,
Leaning into the envenomed depths of the sea.
St George the Prince sat stiff, resolute
His bony fingers clasped around
the strands of moonlight floating from my mane.
Read MoreA distant memory. One that could never be forgotten. She was dressed in thin garments on a frozen winter morning. The sky was of an abnormal depth, even for such menacing times. Clouds of fog moved towards her, enveloping her frail ankles in their icy wrath.
Read MoreBeyond the crevice of the soul,
lies a glorified story of my sleepless nights.
The dreams, too sour and ever too ripe,
overlap their brused shadows and slide out of my mouth.
Un hiver ou un été
Je partirai dans le froid ou dans le soleil
Dans un cristal de neige étoilé
Read MoreMy legs, moving faster than my shadow,
the colours in my sweaty hand,
Too far in such a short distance,
like dying before the end of life.
She tilted the jug of pink lemonade and the ice cubes tumbled into her glass, three at a time, clinking together. He was at the other side of the room, slumped in a sofa, a cup of steaming coffee in his trembling fingers. Miriam wanted to say something, anything, but as her mouth opened, a single breath came whooshing out before she clamped it shut, her teeth grinding, hard. All this was giving her a headache and so she sat down, dizzy and flustered.
Read MoreHave you ever pushed the door of a store, driven by the nearly magnetic attraction of a name or visual on the front window? I have, many times, often to be disappointed by what I discovered once inside.
There was this one time though were I entered a small narrow shop called Serendipity in a sleepy village in Cornwall where I had rented a B&B.
Read MoreDear you, whoever you are,
I found this sturdy leaf and pulled out my purple fountain pen from the back pocket of my soaked denim skirt, and decided to write this letter hoping you would find it.
When I was washed onto the white sand of this island, I befriended a seagull. She was gentle and kind and approached me when she heard the sound of my voice. Now, I have decided to let her go with this letter attached to her leg. She will return and when she does, I will know that she has found you.
It all started with a misunderstanding. Zara agreed to meet me at the bottom of the stairs of the Paris Opera, and I waited for 30 minutes at the bottom of the stairs of the Paris Opera.
Except that my sister Zara meant the old Paris Opera and I understood the new Paris Opera, also called the Opera Bastille. Technically I was right of course. The old Opera house has been converted into the home of the national ballet and replaced by the new Opera...
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