Wilfred Owen: Miners

“You may feel keen enough to buy this week’s Nation. I have at last a poem in it, which I sent off on the same evening as writing it!!”

Wilfred Owen to his cousin Leslie Gunston, 26 January 1918.

The poem Owen was referring to in this letter was Miners, written almost exactly 100 Continue reading


An Unexpected Inheritance

via Daily Prompt: Inheritance

When my mother died, it seemed at first that her possessions – the things she’d owned, touched, cared for – were all I had left of her. The process of emptying her house, my childhood home, meant losing her all over again, every day, in countless tiny ways. I kept as many of her possessions as I could – anything that had either sentimental or practical value – but this didn’t help. Many of the things I chose to keep had been in Mum’s possession for years and were already approaching the end of their shelf life. All too often in the last five years, the grief has hit me all over again, because something as mundane as an iron or a tupperware lunch box has finally broken beyond repair. And at the back of my mind, there has always been a secret fear: that one day I’ll have nothing left of her, nothing that she bought or owned or touched, and then she’ll really, finally be gone. Continue reading