“…and here I am living, despite it all.”

There’s a couplet of house sparrows clinging to the swaying Cypress, the feathers festooning the branches in their quivers.

I think that’s about as much movement as I’ve attempted all day.

There’s a drooling Tabby cat eye-balling me as I finish rinsing the last dirty dish, “you’re not even mine to feed…”

I think I forgot to eat lunch.

There’s something irking, that I can’t shake, when the passer-by crosses the street as I enter it. 

My insecurities still haven’t got the memo.

There’s a Kite who trails a blaze of sun-filled memories on the Thames, reminding me I am home.

Home could be anywhere right now.

There’s 24 stress-sown Tomato plants and my house mate doesn’t eat them.

Each rumbling engine that crunches into the driveway seems as heralded as getting a delivery slot. 

In a cacophony of minimalism, the silence sounded like music. 

…and here I am living, despite it all.



by Ella K Clarke

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