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Waiting for spring…

I have been doing some work in the garden. A friend dug out a rampant osteospernum that had taken over a flowerbed.

My chest is no longer noisy. How weird is that? No intervention has been made. Only being outside. Nothing with my health makes sense anymore.

I am waiting for a response from the police. It seems to take an age.

Martin has had a crew cut with nothing at the sides. I don’t like it.

I seem to have lost control of my kitchen.

By Chrisssie Morris Brady

I've read poetry since I was nine and have written creatively since I was fourteen (probably long before that). After writing book reviews and social comment, I decided I wanted to write poetry. I have no formal training, but I surround myself with poets and their writing. I am honing my craft.
I have two published collections which I don't feel good about, but have been published by madswirl.com and other publications. I live on the south coast of England with my daughter. I am seriously ill.

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