‘The Suitcase’ and other poems by Breda Spaight

Her Cross   When I drink, it is always 1967. The dog lies still on the frozen grass, white blades bowed under blinking crystals; the chain from its neck to the conifer muddied and knotted like a ro…

Source: ‘The Suitcase’ and other poems by Breda Spaight

These are poems of searing intimacy, with honesty that evokes a lurch of gut-wrench, coupled with absolute compassion.

Rare and deeply human.

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