Claire Reiderman


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Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: Les Jeunes Gens

What started off with Pinot Grigio and rinsed me out like mouthwash became the earthiness stuck behind my teeth of chewing brown growths which she called “silly billies” and then I smiled too wide like the Cheshire cat because everything was pulsating and opening up wide in colour so we reminded ourselves of symmetry and…

Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: Landscape

The amber drops of my mother’s Downfall now swollen into Puddles on the linoleum of the Kitchen floor with icebergs of Glass glinting among them. The driveway has stopped Its cry of gravel and the Creeping green of weeds threatens To take over. A hair brush lies on its back Tufts of blonde hair like…

Creative Writing, OldVenue

The Night

The night brings buzzing little insects that burrow into ears and crawl across flesh They surface when it’s quiet and dark They don’t exist until the plague   The Moths descend in drones, watch with silent faces from the window Crickets laugh, rubbing legs raw The night’s sticky skin bursts open, and they pour in…

Creative Writing, OldVenue

Creative Writing: The Night

The night brings buzzing little insects that burrow into ears and crawl across flesh They surface when it’s quiet and dark They don’t exist until the plague The Moths descend in drones, watch with silent faces from the window Crickets laugh, rubbing legs raw The night’s sticky skin bursts open, and they pour in Flies…