Sublime

Maggie Jones

No death, no light, no rest.

a scruffy man dressed all in black who looked like a beggar.

He had collapsed in his flapping and untucked hospital whites, dead possibly even before he hit the industrial black-and-red hospital tiles, and three days later the man who had dominated Jacky’s life, the irrational white ghost-god, was underground.

bungalow half digested by blackberries and English ivy.

“He acts like he can’t walk—that has to be covering up something.

Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.