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mutton stew - adele evershed



He asked for his mother at the end

forgetting it was always her cutting him

into smaller and smaller pieces

until he was no bigger than a hankie

when he came to me he still had her claw marks

and I thought I could fix him like a kintsugi pot

sticking him back together with golden words and time

I am old now and out of gold

just a stew of consciousness seasoned with salt and thyme

I bubble away like a tar pit full of the bones of my ancestors

or other cattle

I’ve lost my joined up thinking and my words

dribble

with sepia

yet I know this one thing for sure

in the end we are only able


to save ourselves



Adele Evershed was born in Wales and has lived in Asia before settling in Connecticut. Her poetry and prose have been published in a number of journals and anthologies Adele has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net for poetry. Finishing Line Press published her poetry chapbook, Turbulence in Small Places this year and her novella-in-flash, Wannabe, was published by Alien Buddha Press in May. Her second poetry collection, The Brink of Silence will be available from Bottlecap Press later this year.

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