Wish You Were Here

By Sandy Wilson

It is a place of memories: salt on lips, screech of gulls, the aroma of sun lotion. Here Sylvia sits hunched watching her son play.

It is a place of memories. Noah’s military father told himself the sacrifice – their son being brought home draped in the flag – had been an honour. But her grief, her keening, still echoes in her skull. She joins her son at the edge of the sea where the cool waves rise to numb her memory of his birth, rise to wash away the grief, and silence the song of lament in her head.

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“I write short stories, memoirs and poetry, in a vain attempt to understand life.” – the writer

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