Interstices

Roland Leach

My mother liked words, she would say, ‘In the interstices between the beginning and the end, between my husband leaving for war, and returning cigarette-thin, between taking me to live in the bush in an army tent, and the first child, between waking with an eye out for dugites and cooking dinner in a wood stove, in between, in the interstices, I dreamed of the sea.’