Ys, Ys Yes, I am the seabirds washed inside-out, the stained-glass sea, yawning roofless walls. Yes, your calls ring straight to voicemails, you can barely hear my recording yapping over the waves. Yes, the proofer has vanished, his pen unable to underline typos yet my skin is littered with deaths. Yes, I timed out and … Continue reading ‘Ys, Ys’ by Claire Trévien