Category: Prose

Black ants and driftwood, when writing means life
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Mar 9
Everyone wants to be a writer. And they should. Leading the dance of […]
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This is grief, for now not ever
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Mar 6
I rock back and forth, arms pinned in close, left hand in fist […]
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Stop it, just stop it
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Aug 25
I’ve noticed, of late, actually scratch that, I’ve noticed for a long time […]
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The puddle that thinks it’s a creek
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Jan 30
“Hey, how are you?” It’s Justine, my friend from Queensland calling to make […]
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The life of an adult child
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Aug 25
For six weeks in a languid summer four years ago, deep in the […]
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Sugar coated grief is still grief, no matter how you coat it
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Oct 5
I returned to the place of my mother’s death today. A lone hospital […]
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Suicide, a 7 letter word with more than 13 reasons why
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Apr 18
This post is about suicide. It may trigger you or cause you distress. […]
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What does he do? He lives in a lion’s heart
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Mar 5
Too often the first question from my friends’ lips, when I mention a […]
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Death is in the details and on my phone
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
Mar 5
I have photos of my dead mother on my phone. Not my mother […]
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Since when did life come with a stylist and a hashtag?
Rachael Oakes-Ash -
May 3
I cut my thighs the other day, deliberately. On an image editing website. […]
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