Sarah's writing journal

I have a strange childhood memory of being taken to see St Etheldreda's fingerbone in a church in Ely. Surely not? Anyway my semi-Catholic childhood has definitely left me with an obsession for stories about Saints bones - one I love is when the bones of an Italian Saint were sent overseas to a monastery, the monks opening the parcel forgot what he was called and renamed him the Italian word for speed because that was what had been written on the side of the box. Which is a cheesy link to what I'm going to write about today, a quote taken from Joyce Huff's lovely poem, The Hymn of a Fat Woman, on the Poetry 180 site and is

I imagine I will find my kind outside
lolling in the garden
munching on the apples.