faster than fairies, faster than witches
2004-01-18 || 11:01 a.m.

When I was eight I had a teacher called Miss Allison. It was because of Miss Allison that I love poetry so.

I vividly remember the Monday morning she read 'From a Railway Carriage' by Robert Louis Stevenson. How I put my head down on the desk and felt the words wash over me. How I suddenly no longer felt unloved with hair that was too long and straggly and needed cutting, with a uniform I had grown out of long ago and ugly brown Clarks shoes that rubbed my feet, especially around the place my ballet shoes rubbed. Because suddenly I found that other people thought the same things as me. Other people felt that same wistfulness. Other people dreamed to.

I always knew I had words because it was books that brought me up, books that comforted me, books I held in bed, books I strained my eyes to read by candlelight during power cuts. But now I had the beauty and power of rhythmic words.

I had Charlotte and eventually I had Christina too.