He will not understand her fascination
for rain, these summer months of water
that somehow keep the money coming in,
paying for the nurses his granddaughter

has slowly learnt to trust. Now all the good
help is gone, he feels he can spot liars
with one look; and if he could, he would
take care of her himself. All these prayers

for a new body! She doesn’t understand
the joke, but simply stares out the window
where an old broken-down tractor stands

in the backyard, grass screaming out of
sprockets – its joints rusting above slow
gulfs of shadow shot wild with foxglove.

 

Photograph by Susanne Nilsson

Memoirs of an Anonymous Phone Sex Worker
Bradistan