Alison Gorman

Venus and Mars

Sandro Boticelli, c1485 Awake now. Remember our love in the shade of a wild myrtle forest. Your red, silk pallium softens our bed of bracken and leaf. The air is cool here, broken by swallow song and the hum of …

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Six years old. You are eleven. Our mother parks her boxy corolla outside the newsagent’s. The road is flat-like it’s been eyeballed with a spirit level. She counts coins from her unzipped purse, pencils the expense in her notebook and …

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