‘Appearances’ by Philip Gross

  Appearances “What’s the boy saying?” Gaunt hand wavering at me, nails like polished horn (Don’t stare, your uncle’s old and not well), signet ring a gleam on the wasted flesh (And call him Sir), the long-toothed grin, its awful vacancy … then “Damn you, woman” – brittle, shrill – “Where are you?” She moved, his iron-grey shadow, a tight-lipped watchfulness, to still him with … Continue reading ‘Appearances’ by Philip Gross