strand

Just a week after getting my driver’s license, I was in a car accident. What lodged itself most stubbornly in my mind wasn’t the impact – not the deployment of the airbags or the sound of breaking metal – but rather the clothes I was wearing.

Writer Noa Cobo Ribas creates a poem from magazine cut-outs.

‘I’m after the painter of memories.’ Aidan turns up the call volume; the voice sounds distant.