She died last night, yet I smile as I begin the process of calling her friends to share the sad news.
Grandma’s address book is a coded document. One left for me to decipher.
‘The flower lady.’ ‘Number 16.’ ‘Land Army Dot.’
Curiosity leads me to check out my own name.
Not in the Js or the Hs.
I find it under ‘O’. ‘Our John.’
The family, held together by mum’s pen.
‘Our Colin.’ ‘Our Alex.’
I call ‘Our Adam’ first:
One of the few names in the book without a line through it.
Published: Vine Leaves Press
