‘Eggs’

It is very early on, still the beginning. I am still the daughter. She is still the mother. I can run through the flat while She sobs over pink laundry. One red sock. I don’t care; I am running to my bedroom with headphones in my ears, hiding for one, two, three hours, listening to the music. There are four different cassettes: all albums by my favourite artist. It is Robbie Williams. Some smells and screaming come … Continue reading ‘Eggs’