abelmoir

I do not rush into a corner & try to weep myself to death;

I turn to that Sun which is the centre of my love, and dry my bedraggled wings in its rays.

Evelyn Atholl Moir BA ’81

Today I ask for your forgiveness…

As a child, I snuggled in your fur…I wrapped my arms around your neck.

I played, in awe but fearless.

Pulled dagger teeth, poked  glassy eyes, grasped languid razor claws.

Hard plaster tongue & snout; lifeless, chipped, dusty.

Pelt limp, spreadeagled trimmed with felt, balding, bullet scarred & faded.

Bones broken, missing; Death.

I did not think of  you alive old Tiger Skin Rug.