harrietmacmillan

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe Pilgrim Soul harrietmacmillan010 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Plague harrietmacmillan110 years 10 months ago
StoryHeart Library harrietmacmillan110 years 10 months ago
StoryHailstones harrietmacmillan210 years 10 months ago
StoryGold and Trinkets Glitter in the Flame harrietmacmillan010 years 10 months ago
StoryThe Lake harrietmacmillan511 years 1 month ago
StorySpinothalamic Tract harrietmacmillan111 years 8 months ago
StoryOxford, harrietmacmillan312 years 1 week ago
StoryWhen We Were Seventeen harrietmacmillan312 years 1 week ago
StoryHalf-Asleep harrietmacmillan212 years 1 week ago
StoryUnquestioning harrietmacmillan1012 years 1 month ago
StoryMagpie Mile harrietmacmillan212 years 1 month ago
StoryThe Cailleach harrietmacmillan312 years 1 month ago

My stories

Oxford,

Oxford, Don’t let us pretend that we are in paradise. It’s not that it isn’t very nice, for it is. It’s just that Oxford is like an antique tea-cup in which

Half-Asleep

I read you my poems when you are half-asleep Because I am so terrified of your commentary. A word from you could unravel me, Leaving me as yarn in a new labyrinth.
Cherry

When We Were Seventeen

Why is it that even now, space and time suspending A bold battlement between us, I cannot write about you? Oh yes, you live here veiled in such a vague frame,

Hailstones

Since Good Friday, the bells have not rung and thus we wait, Suspended in timeless silence, anticipating Sunday. The morning brought scant sun but enough, just enough,

Unexpecting

Here am I, darling mother host: your parasitic flesh and blood, Evicted, undercooked. A flower senseless and scentless. You did not think I would be like this.

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