Monday. A heritage walk pops up on my feed. The start time (8 am) immediately puts me off. In my current state I’d rather curl up and...

It’s been only a couple of days since I moved back from Paris, and I’ve arranged to meet friends every evening in an attempt to reconnect...

I walk into the living room and she’s sitting crouched on the floor, hands up against her head in fatigue and despair. Her hair is pale...

Late October, and still the sea is warm. Still the sun shines above us, warming our backs. Still I bathe in the sea, as you watch...

sprawled across this summer night- strings put together, drawn up to sky -it stands, silent, between me and you, away on your island of...

Another day has come. The sun has risen and set She looks at her fingers Wonders how to get out of bed Not how. Why. The day goes by. The...

Weary from a long day at work, I get into the metro and brace myself for the long ride ahead. Autumn has abruptly turned to winter, and...

Saturday night. I catch the last metro after a night of gypsy jazz and raspberry beer and sink happily into the corner seat of a square....

When I look back there is nothing but sun: the welcome oppression of a Bombay noon, its beating rays angling in, and I, foetal-curled...

We dug our claws in like two cats in opposing Parisian windowsills sized each other up, across the tin roof that divided us. Like cats on...

Indira is Nepalese. She has a round, white face like the moon and caramel eyes that twinkle when she smiles her Cheshire-cat smile. She...

I roll out of your still-asleep arms and walk to the kitchenette, rubbing my eyes. Sleep hangs heavy on my lids, but my arms move...

A hot day, and I’m late. I rush into the metro, lean against its cool metal poles and tap my feet impatiently to the music in my ears....

Nascent moon peers out of blue unblemished but for a cross. We sit beneath searching for syllables breathing grass counting buds in...

If you are a woman, you know it doesn’t take much to fix yourself up. Make-up to hide your lines, define eyelashes, cheekbones and lips,...

She lunges at me, the tall black girl standing against the closed doors of the metro. It’s that time of Saturday night when anything can...

There are many ways of looking for a poem in the metro. You could be a reader of its Lignes et Rimes Four-line instalments scissored out...

Beep. The doors to the metro open. One of the women who walk in instantly catches my eye. Her face is like a cloud, all round and soft....

I’m only two metro stops away from my home, but it’s cold and I’m feeling lazy to walk the distance. I descend the stairs at a run, and...

There’s nobody at the metro station. It is late on a weekday, and the only souls in sight are one cleaner on each platform; people who go...