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Tag / davina quinlivan
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Watermark by Davina Quinlivan
I stand on the threshold to her flat and watch myself close the door.
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Wool, a short essay by Amelia Hodsdon
Once upon a time, sheep in the fields here, in their sheepcots on the wolds, were the source of fortunes.
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Threads, a community poem
Red, it’s my colour,
the cuffs rippling in the wind,
Hung lazily off an arm.
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Shalimar, an extract, by Davina Quinlivan
Hepworth carved a Burmese Baby from the blackest wood, silent and shining. She conjured him with her own hands.
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Davina Quinlivan at Stanfords, Bristol
Davina Quinlivan reading from and talking about Shalimar
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