As her fingers gingerly rubbed over the welted bleeding skin, she said ‘This is change and this is transition. This means family and love. It is my ...verlasting bond with the people who made me, other than my life of course.’ Upon her back now etched in ink were the moon and the sun conjoined, with a star to the right. She traced the hard black lines and the soft lips of the sun sore as it was, touching seemed to help finalize the truth. The moon was blue as a corpse’s mouth and the sun bright. Sunday evening slowness but then I was there. Four spam and a not very funny "funny" from a friend. Ho Hum! Back downstairs. Still ten minutes. Come on," I thought to myself. "She hasn't spoken to her mother properly for Heaven knows how long. Stop being impatient." So I dug an opera CD out and started to play it quietly. That calmed me down and I waited patiently until the pizzas were ready. Morag wasn't but I went through and signalled to her. She nodded and waved in acknowledgement. I went. More

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