Mother, any distance greater than a single span requires a second pair of hands

You at the zero-end, me with the spool of tape, recording length, reporting metres, centimetres back to base, then leaving up the stairs, the line still feeding out, unreeling years between us. Anchor. Kite. Addressing mother directly, she is the starting point

You at the zero-end, me with the spool of tape, recording length, reporting metres, centimetres back to base, then leaving up the stairs, the line still feeding out, unreeling years between us. Anchor. Kite. They are connected by the tape; it’s like an umbilical cord. At the same time it is a visual image of the years that have gone by.

You at the zero-end, me with the spool of tape, recording length, reporting metres, centimetres back to base, then leaving up the stairs, the line still feeding out, unreeling years between us. Anchor. Kite. He reports back to her; he understands that she is the most certain thing in his life. She allows him to explore, knowing that despite the years between them he will always be connected to her.

You at the zero-end, me with the spool of tape, recording length, reporting metres, centimetres back to base, then leaving up the stairs, the line still feeding out, unreeling years between us. Anchor. Kite. Another metaphor for what connects them. It could suggest security or that he is limited in his freedom to fly.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. Suggests he is moving upwards, growing up. Meaning is ambiguous.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. Things cannot remain the way they are and at some point he will need and want independence.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. She has been prepared for this and is helping him but at the same time she is reluctant to let go. Also suggests that you can never really detach yourself completely from your past.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. He has come to the end of the line though and must let go

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. Final hesitation, deep breath.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. Takes the first steps towards independence. We are left on the edge because the enjambment leaves us wondering whether he will get hold of anything and be safe.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. Opportunities are endless and to some extent daunting, but he has found an opening.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something has to give; Two floors below your fingertips still pinch the last one-hundredth of an inch… I reach towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky to fall or fly. A huge step; will he make it or not, Is it that black and white?