The Manchester Review is rooted in the city from which it takes its name …
You don’t really stay here; a hotel is a place at which you arrive and from which you depart.
The Fitzsimonses’ house, about the size of an English manor, was on the middle stretch of Avoca Avenue …
They told you stand barefoot, the cool grass
spreading for the soles of your feet; weight
It’s not that he’s too old, he just doesn’t want it,
the practice being enough and sometimes
making the cut. Top half of the leader-board
The Tree reading in the street: ‘The Frome children, who all even the boys bore the names of flowers, were making a trifle …
Those spacious months when we lived
continents apart, pens were back in,
our letters made days more bearable.
In the cousins’ room the light bulbs crack.
There are limbs reaching out
Pebbles shifted underfoot as Luisa walked up the driveway to Edie’s house.
Amateur musicians join me unexpectedly so
a kind of music I know nothing about –
I find him in Empangeni. My father lies on his back at the edge of the sugar-cane valley, one arm under his head, the other flung out, fingers plaiting scrub and yellow weed flowers.
I find her tilted, head up
and listening, ear shaped for the universe.
The films were usually shown, where I grew up, in school libraries during the normal run of the school day …
Even the words overcast December day have slack in them, a falling away sound.