mr. kane

He likes me because of my thigh-high stockings. I know this because he told me. He’s charitable in his verbal appreciation of me. Though I can’t be certain, I suspect his loquacity probably helps dispel thoughts of his dead, manic-suicide, ex-wife. Filling up the space with sound. I’m curious as to why there are no pictures of […]

shadow box

I don’t wonder what he is to me. Nor what I am to him. It’s glaringly obvious that I am a fantasy object that he believes would make his life complete, and absolutely wouldn’t. Elusive happiness, and one’s rabid attempt to find it. Nonetheless, I’m lured by the storyline he’s created for us. Not as […]

resemblance

Somehow, my son finds a picture of my mum this week. It’s all such a long story, and it never really stops. Despite the fact that I shed people regularly, the way a snake sheds its skin. “You look just like her!” Django tells me, that laughter in his voice when he knows he’s found […]