This is that feeling Summer of ‘83. Thirteen, underdeveloped, ridiculous. On my white t-shirt, tiny multi-coloured stars. Yellow, green, satin shorts, no fashion sense, even back then. My rainbow rollerskates act like the wings of a mythical beast. I glide, I dart, weave. And I know: this is that feeling. Free. Wind. Fast. Me.
Came across the key to my first flat today, while tidying up. I’ve kept it in a tiny box, a memento of decades ago and the inspiration for my poem. Spare key This one still dreams in a tiny cardboard box, more appropriate for an engagement ring than the key to my first ever flat.Continue reading “Spare key, by Britta Benson”
Countdown to my six-word-memoir I’ve got ten minutes to make this work. I’ll need three just to make a cup of tea, leaves me seven for my masterpiece! Six, actually, I got distracted by a robin sitting on the fence and giving it loudy. Five – the tick and tock, I hate that clock onContinue reading “Countdown to my six-word-memoir, by Britta Benson”