If {by Laura Fraser}

If I had a home, I'd invite you all to come.


We'd go outside, light a fire, around which we'd stand, sit and lie. Some of us, would hold hands and some of us would not. But their hearts would burn, as if they were.

And we'd watch as the fire grew bigger, its flame flickering upwards. Our eyes would shine, glistening with the flame and slowly, slowly, we'd start moving. Our feet would be first. Stomping, stamping, our hands would tingle as we stood close to one another and as our hearts came alight, more of us would stand and reach out for another hand. 

And the flame would grow taller, warming the chill of the night and the stars would come out from the clouds and the rain would start to fall. So that as the earth started to weep, we'd continue. Standing, sitting, perhaps lying. Some of us holding hands and some of us, if hand holding isn't our thing, being brave enough to let our hearts roar all the same.

If I had a home, I'd say bring your children, bring your husband, wife, lover, partner, guru, sister, uncle, everyone. Bring everyone.

And the more that would come, the larger the flame that would burn. Every skin and every colour and every age and every tradition and every inclination would be there and more and more hands would be holding; because why not?

And as skin touches skin the cure would burn. And as the fire burned we'd begin to sing.

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Bifters & the strangeness of memory

I once met a friend of my father's who looked at me a little quizzically and then with a big smile pointed to the belt he was wearing and said, “He gave me this, your father.” I stared at it not knowing what to say. Part of me wanted to touch the belt, know the belt and hear more about the belt for have only 4 possessions left of my father’s: a chess set and a small sculptor made out of whale bone that Inuit clients of his gave to him after he represented them when he was a lawyer working in Alaska, a pink Hawaiian shirt and a book of Oscar Wilde’s stories that he gave me, with the inscription: “For when my imagination runs dry, love Daddy.” So anything else that may have been his takes on a slightly awesome quality should someone say your dad did this. Stories and memories included. 

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