The now and gone, by Britta Benson

I feel between times, tides and worlds right now. Here’s a wee poem I wrote on returning from a monthlong stay in Germany, in my childhood home, looking after my dad. The now and gone And I, between North and South, between day and night, not for me to judge. My bare summer feet touchContinue reading “The now and gone, by Britta Benson”

Variations of Dad, by Britta Benson

Here’s my response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt. This week: ‘Variation’ in 67 words. ( Variations of Dad Sorting his legs in the morning. Left. Right. Almost familiar. Eating toast that looks like yesterday’s but isn’t. Coffee, three sweeteners. Always. Five tablets. A daily rainbow, the same in all its difference. Counting steps. NumbersContinue reading “Variations of Dad, by Britta Benson”

My dad’s walking frame, by Britta Benson

Yesterday, I attended a triolet workshop and, guess what? I wrote a triolet. In fact, I wrote two. Here’s my first. The form is still new to me, but it feels like a friend. My dad’s walking frame An exercise in patience, life, surprise. The practice of not going anywhere. His walking frame meanders, wiggles,Continue reading “My dad’s walking frame, by Britta Benson”

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