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Author: Clare Locke

  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Our hands

    • Clare Locke and Colleen Keating
    • 18 March 2019
    3 Comments

    The church is an old man with heavy robes. Heavy lidded, head bowed. Stooped. We are twisting, clutching, writhing. Pointing fingers, fists stamping tables or shaking in fury. But the old man is deaf and blind and besides, his head is low, and he sits within a prison cell.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The boy who never stops

    • Clare Locke
    • 10 June 2014
    4 Comments

    I'm sitting on sturdy chair, stretch cotton nightie, baby to my breast in this pale light, my newest success. Memory has framed this view, of life dawning, love nestled quietly in a sure footed chair. Years on, that honeyed perfection, the bliss of triumphant togetherness, soothes the shock of his rage, his energy.

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