Cleopatra’s Needling by Karen Ridley

Age shall not wither her I think someone said. Well, that was a bloody lie for starters; I wither like a plant in a winter bed.  Now gnarly hands twist like roots around my head, where fingers once played music on myriad lovers. Age shall not wither her I think someone said.  In memories I dance, I move with grace he said. A tortoise: I totter, I twist, I tumble, I … Continue reading Cleopatra’s Needling by Karen Ridley