Writing for Fun
February 2018
Last Summer - Maureen Rampersaud
Last summer I walked around my garden, smelling the roses and pulling up the odd weed.
Last summer I strolled along by the sea, watching the waves rolling to the shore, making the children scream.
Last summer I chopped vegetables in my kitchen, humming to myself, listening to 'Desert Island Discs'.
Last winter I fell.
This summer I'm here, in this chair, in this room, in this home, not my home.
Trapped.