It’s not been an easy few months. Sadly my father had a fall and died some weeks later in hospital. Anyone who’s been a carer of an elderly parent knows how heartbreaking and tough this is. When it comes to grief it doesn’t matter that they lived to a great age and had a good life, as my father did. What matters is that they are no longer with you – well, at least not in body.
I do hope my father is with me in spirit (I know he is) as I move towards the publication in October, by Linen Press, of my poetry collection Going in With Flowers, a work which reflects my many years spent working with women in prison.
It’s subject makes it the book closest to my heart – I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to write about those years and yet I wanted to – passionately – because I believe I should bear witness. I should be continuing to speak out about the locking up of women who are themselves victims of the most violent of crimes.
And I do in this collection – through the tranformative power of poetry which became my way in, and alongside it some spare but revealing prose.
I’m excited now for its forthcoming launch – more details soon. A glimpse of the cover image here – flowers instead of bars – a metaphor for how things should be …
