Cathy Bryant


I am a writer.

I Want One

Some facet of brakes or wheels strikes sparksfrom the cobbles and the boy whoops and laughsas his mother bumps the wheelchair along.’Like a fairground ride!’ she beams at me and I smile back, doing my crutches-waltzover the uneven stones, each unique like facesor fingerprints, and the gentle moss between. The sound and feel of crutch and feet:clack-thud on the cobbles, silent softnesson moss, transmitted up to my arms.The wheelchair sounds like a zip wire or train. A girl, about six, is being dragged along byher mother, her little legs reluctant. She looksat the wheeling, laughing boy in his sparklingchariot and tugs at her …Read more

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