Anton Floyd

The Longest Distance Between Two Places

Later I discover a burgundy coloured tin. Gold lettering on the lid says, "Radiance 'riviera assorted' Toffees." It holds photographs. I sift through them – sepias and black and whites on ilford paper mostly. A photo of my parents catches my eye, a gelatin silver print. They're at dinner or just after. They're in a place and with people I don't recognise. They all look young, glamorous as if on location – a brightly lit terrace of a colonial hotel, a mountain resort offering summer cool. Questions come. I improvise scenarios. I know the picture is a memory I cannot have yet it possesses me.

noises off
spilling into the limelight
the foxed mirror