I was sitting primly in the Parlour, holding my head proudly erect because I was about to skunk my brother Austin four games in a row in cribbage and the tinkling little ice cubes in his untouched lemonade had melted into soft little nubs where the glass sat on its damp coaster next to his pale fat hand…

Emily Dickinson in her own words Colin Gee ‘Get up on the couch, Susan,’ I cried, already up there myself. ‘A soft Sea is washing around the house!’ Emitting one of her characteristic little squeals, […]