Memory:
I feel the hot sun, see the dappled shapes on the concrete, shapes made from the bessa block side building, the stacks of hall chairs… Ingrid and I read passages of text to each other. I draw charts, chant and sing… Cooking recipes of heart troubles. I evade the nasty bits, the hurtful bits… and move towards a ‘showing’. An intimate showing. The curtain slightly ajar. An oxen heart, an unreasonable left over…
