Disbelief when he told me the bad news. The lump that stuck in my throat. Scalding hot tears fell unchecked. Ringing Mum to hear the news again.
She used that even, tempered voice that explained maths' problems to my uncomprehending brain. The details were undigested words.
Words I couldn't possibly swallow Misery and grief stretched out like a winding path, in the dark mists of a dank and dreary English October.
The lump in my throat grew into a leaden stone lodged in my stomach. My beloved boy, who had saved my life Why couldn't I return the favour?
Death in the midst of vibrant Spanish life - the mind and psyche are scarred. Who would be a mother? All this love with nowhere to go - only grey grief.
Grey grief that settled like a comfort blanket - between the black and white of life and death, a mother's grief between the throat's lump and the stomach's stone.
VIXEN of VERSE 
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