Lindsay West

born in a sunny place where they have boats and seaside then moved to grey garden lined streets with small houses and a sandbox and a pond we built one summer and a hole in the fence where I slipped into the neightbours' yard; then a big house that grew and a big garden full of tall trees that disappeared one by one and my cat on a leash cos he didn't know the land yet and a car is the key to the rest of the world; then a windy city with a castle overhead and hidden streets below (as we walk we shake their ceilings) and warm rooms, warm people, everlasting pint, from nowhere and everywhere, trying to enjoy it without wishing it was warmer; finally back to the empty fields deafened by the roaring roads, to the sticks reaching for the big city...