Amy Grandvoinet
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amygrandvoinet.bsky.social
Amy Grandvoinet
@amygrandvoinet.bsky.social
8 followers 16 following 4 posts
Another ephemeral social media platform of sporadic use plîs find stuff at linktr.ee/amy_k_grandvoinet peace out baby #lovehumans
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Reposted by Amy Grandvoinet
brokensleepbooks.bsky.social
Like a magic eye that reveals a new image, and perhaps new self, with every glance.
— Poppy Cockburn @poppycockburn.bsky.social

The Indigo Hours is watery fortification.
— Amy Grandvoinet @amygrandvoinet.bsky.social

www.brokensleepbooks.com/product-page...
whack some poor athlete in the head with my strokes. I learned a lot then. Learned to close my world, slim the lines, narrow and harden. Wrapped in a towel, aged twelve, I shivered on the patio as my grandmother told me I had ‘childbearing hips.’ Ever since then, I’ve carried any weight lopsided. The restaurant required me to lift chairs and tables, crates of glasses and sandwich board signs. I kept a bruise, permanently, on my left hipbone. At night I stroked the everchanging smudge of blue/purple/grey/green and wondered who it belonged to. The board signs flapped their truths in my fantasies, something about fresh deals, beauty sleep, are you ready. ⁂ I could try to describe the prairie. The cheddar-red homecoming sunsets, sense of the flame-tipped birches in early winter. The nowhereness of every mile lost. Honestly it was like a place from your dreams, yours specifically, a place in-between one world and the next. One girl and the next. Endless flatness. All hope of foliage had long been stamped into the ground, remaining but a texture on earth. People had disappeared on the prairie. Ruthie told me about the will-o’-the-wisp that lit little spirals in the air at night. “If a story in which we escape a fire,” she said. She didn’t finish the conditional. She exhaled smoke. I tried to remember what fire we escaped, maybe a classroom in flames when the plug exploded. What teacher forgot to tell us to leave, spraying the flames herself. Blue fluid, red flame. Kicking open doors with her boots, toes of steel. On the prairie, your breath levelled out to a sigh. I could only watch it from my father’s back garden, while the chickens squawked in their cage behind me. The thing about the prairie was you had to cross all that marshland to get there. You had to risk sinking.
September 3, 2025 at 12:04 PM
Reposted by Amy Grandvoinet
foldingrockmag.bsky.social
Featuring words from:

Manon Steffan Ros
Greg Flynn
Beth Preece
@amygrandvoinet.bsky.social
Yasmin Zaher
Horatio Clare
Grug Muse
@aniacard.bsky.social
Liz Churchill
Hannah Dafforn
Natalie Ann Holborow
Emma Glass
Maya Jordan

Pre-Order now: foldingrock.com/shop/standal...
Folding Rock 002: Speak to Me – Folding Rock
Featuring new work from writers including Horatio Clare, Emma Glass, Manon Steffan Ros and Ania Card. The multitude of languages we use to communicate, be they spoken or non-verbal, are arguably the m...
foldingrock.com
May 29, 2025 at 11:37 AM
amygrandvoinet.bsky.social
Have just discovered this u r extremeli sweet. x
November 29, 2024 at 10:45 PM