KIRK LAFFERTY

                                                                                       Craig sat on a park bench at the top of Arch hill waiting for the library to open. A mass of black hair hiding a large Polynesian man made its way up the steps towards him.   It had been ten years. From this angle, he couldn’t tell if it was him or not. With each step that the man-made, Craig’s breaths deepened. A vein on his neck poked out and pulsed with his quickening heart. Nature screamed aromas. Manuka trees were bursting into blossom subtlety juniper. Wild onions had taken over the hillside, colonizers pushing the natives out. Beyond the trees, car exhausts wafted up from the valley where the motorway cut through like a river, sounding like a sea. None of those sce...

Its been a year since I lay beside you and pulled my fingers through your hair, that most primitive of gestures. It had the effect of turning your locks into the mane of a lion, the Leo Sayer look which alas, was no longer the fashion. I question myself. What could I have done to stop you leaving? Could I have been kinder, more understanding, more giving? I know now, looking back I didn’t have any more to give, that these probably were the wrong questions to ask, at least they are questions in which I would never find answers. For months I rejected what was happening was in fact happening. That was followed by attempts to replace and fill the hole that was left when you were gone. Half a year on, there were months of being so incredibly and absolutely alone. Empty beaches which in the past I had found so much joy and power I now found emptier than ever. The vast beauty of the world is only perceived as such when you are able to express it as being and without anyone to e...