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January 2014, vol 9, no 4

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Els van Leeuwen


Still adjusting to the bite in the air at night, and the early dark, I am wearing a coat I bought at a charity shop only weeks ago, and my arms are folded, holding myself. Old gravestones, lounging at angles in the grass, flank my trajectory towards the church. The stained glass windows, lit from within, seem to float out of the dark, a tempting bourne, a kind of promise. I know the doors are wide open. I know that people will smile when I enter. It’s only my pride which has seen me struggling to find a way in for weeks on end.

the other side
of the frosted glass
the shape of a moth