‘You brought the beauty of spring into the eye of a cup,’ comes the intonation. Her poetry moves us all, but sadly, could not move her from the path she walked. Darker days beset by darker days, with drink fuzzing the hard edges of each solitary conclusion and increasingly lurid stanzas filling out what were once pure white verses. People couldn’t stand to tell her what she had become and I think she would have been better starting off that way, because they like things in neat little boxes and it's upsetting when things move from ordained spaces. Fading out of the public eye and disappearing with a sigh, the beauty of her happy days left on the edge of the kitchen sink with the dirty cups.
Paddy Dobson
18th July 2023