Carrying Grandma’s Plants Out of Her Apartment After the Move

By Daniel Blokh

As she held me once, when my body was smaller than hers, so we hold the green figures to our chests, set them down in the backseat of the car. Her apartment turns blank again, forgets her quicker than she forgets herself. We tape up cracks on the flowerpots, make sure the stems don’t bend […]


By Rahmoan Williams

Admit it, you were playing hide and seek with me. Thinking it’s a great place to hide six feet deep under the ground. How long were you planning to stay there? You found me before I could find you. It’s not fair. You were cheating, you can’t just hide somewhere and never come back. At […]

The refrigerator at the end of the universe

By Charlotte Guterman

is empty. It doesn’t remember how it got here To the imaginary cliff of star growth valley And the way the ground roils beneath. It sees everything but small and far away Like the inverse telescope or collapsible spoon. The galaxy is hollow and reflective shivering Sometimes with great shudders of time. A hum expands […]


By Isabel Waters

When the blue planet snagged its atmosphere On a passing meteor, all manner of life Came leaking out. Clouds. Couches. Conversation. Computers, Camels and Countries Spreading outward across the black like the Remnants of a rubbish cluster across the sea. A diverse array of religious relics are floating now, In another God’s strange centre.

Miss Take, What Mistake?

By Elliot Owen

When my teacher marques my book. Eye get told two have another look. She says she finds lots of miss takes. Miss takes at ate, eye should not make. Eye got told to use the school pea sea. May bee hoping that it wood teach me. It has a grate spell chequer on it. Witch […]

Mr. Mujer

By Vivian Vasquez

had pink cheeks; a blue mind flew to LA, pompously dressed; returned with a chest filled with silicon and plump dreams. in LA, She’s essential to the fashion scene; here at home, He’s promiscuous and obscene. She was by the alley —last seen hanging here genderless, purple, and dead.

What goes in my backpack?

By Vriti Ranka

Gossip, torchlight, sun – shades, stories; Different colours – red, white, blue; What goes in my big fat backpack? Books and books of hidden clues! Chocolates, chips and mangoes, juicy; To infinity and beyond! And what I love the most in that is: Everything! It’s like a bond!

Tea Dust

By Janice Hahn

He fumbled in empty tea boxes one autumn evening. Snake-like, swamped in his mother’s rasping. After she lost speech, she rolled words in her fingers. Pressed finely crumbled jasmine flakes into his sopping hands, congealed chevrons of red ebbing out towards fleshy shore. Doubt bloomed from her lips, branded, into the roots of his wrists. […]

Mother’s Pantheon

By Rebecca Oet

1. My mother sashayed into my room last night, dress swirling, golden wheat humming on her lips. 2. Ghostly pit pattering behind my eyelids, are there monsters hiding in the oil slick? 3. My heart is congealed milk jelly, hear it wobble!

Ten Line Love Poem to Bold Street

By Eira Murphy

there was a centaur on the road this morning, yelling iceman in beer-froth syllables. bare chested like a promise outside a betting shop, a woman with plastic bag skin is singing of her lost velvet platforms (lost days, lost nights) she scoops up silvered minutes.

Southgrove Road Carol Singing

By Beth Davies

My childhood blurs in yellow light and cinnamon air, the year irrelevant. A single Gloria holds all my Christmas Eves: nights when we breathe dragon-smoke, clutch rain-crinkled paper and sing to our streets, two tunes at once and all out of time. This is the closest I come to faith; out-of-tune voices make the lyrics […]


By Anna Farley

How can a year open on a blank page? “Write here.” Write that the sky splits open like a crypt For the rain to fall in. And half-starved birds come tumbling From the sky onto the bones of trees. Who could doubt the myth Of spontaneous generation? That maggots might spring Fully-formed From the carcass […]

At the ending

By Emily Ingle

we tread our river-ice skulls crown to temple in ink-black leather boots, steel-toed careful – these are still our most fluid bones, paper-thin; beneath we are all running water, sleeping fish and unlined pages, crinkled tissue lobes. Make fresh footprints, but imagine softly. Here at the ending there is no upstream, downstream of left-to-right, paragraphs, […]

Window Light

By Emily Breeds

Spine curving like a snow-heavy branch, each vertebra interlocking with the cold wall’s stone, feeling numb cement fingers along his back through ten years of worn cloth. He is invisible, a grey brick chameleon with severed vocal cords. He sees life’s soft glow framed with silver and he remembers. He remembers his wedding. It was […]

the wasp graveyard

By Ella Standage

january and we sleep under bruise-light / and the wasps smuggle themselves between the panes of my double glazing and die. i’ve spent the new year living honeycombed which means my thoughts are turning geometric—/ /—which means i want to hold very still and fill with honey or some other reminder of summer. or to […]

Snowed in

By Ben Vince

Everything shut down and dead for the day; even my own cosy abandonment is worried it will catch a fever, break out into a delirious sweat and burn the house to meltwater. Nothing but the nothing of white outside; I watch the news expecting yet more stark death, knowing only the warm ones will go, […]

Thinning ice

By Josiah Mortimer

It’s snowing in the Sahara. I saw the pictures – of white-capped dunes beside camel and cactus, the white on orange of Martian blizzard the extraordinary is becoming so familiar as to stare unphased at newspapers’ wry words of white Christmasses in North Africa and wet winters on English plains And the cherry blossoms are […]

Ice-cream Men

By James Wijesinghe

The singing bees, Allured by beds Ablaze with kaleidoscopes Of sweet peas, marigolds, foxgloves and sunflowers, Bathe in the syrups Until their furs are soaked and fat. Then that lullaby, The warble of the ice-cream man, Pipes through melting streets. His van charms flocks Bleating for lollies, cones with flakes, Rainbow sprinkles and doubles with […]

The Fire’s Coming!

By Rosie Levene

Get the diary, bury the cheese, Oh no! I can’t leave these! My frizziest wigs, a couple of pens, Some speckled eggs from my neighbour’s hens. The fire’s coming, Big and bright, I’ve got to leave; I must tonight! A few last words on the diary’s page: ‘How soon the fyre cometh art hard to […]

Great Fire

By Emma White

i impose. this ancient dance is one acted to drums reflective of heartbeats, the sound of thumps on cobbles, screaming horses in the night. i lie in the hands of those who spun sugar to smoke; from the tips of my teeth let pour sweet scorchings. like Midas, i breed tragedies with each golden lick […]

Dust thou art

By Hetty Mosforth

I sleep in dust heaping it over myself by the handful. In the fire I forgot In fear I forgot who I was and what. All that is left is dust. A crow-black, cassock-clad man Stands squawking at passersby, “For dust thou art and unto dust thou shalt return.” He waves a cross over the […]


By Amelia Doherty

I will see the lies and sins and burn them, Kiss the beams of wooden dreams, Blaze upon the cowering curtains of your very soul. I climb upon your oak wood foundation, Burn along your bedsheets. You can not sleep here. I will bring about the destruction just like prophecies of olden times Predicted. I […]

Revenge of the Flame

By William Thomas

Flames lick everything in reach of its wrath Spitefully spitting sparks as it engulfs A red carpet that flickers Dangerously enchanting A blazing lion, awake and alive It will not sleep Smoke wafts up reaching out to heaven But to heaven they will not go Whilst down on the earth Its brother is catching prey […]

An Evening in London

By Jamie Hancock

Picture in your mind a Jacobean street – There! See it in all its stooped wooden-slant glory, Quivering with smoke in the evening air – Its newly restored constitution breathing out from every beam, Buzzing with the heartbeats of a thousand busy souls. We pan over The slope-rooved frames, slowly inching forward to take in […]


By Amber Garma

when it’s light out, and there’s life in your legs again —- if there’s not yet, hack at ’em, let what heat’s left in your hands spark husks in your blood. have it remember. It hasn’t always been so hard for you, doesn’t have to be—- once dawn meets dust meets land in time with […]


By Annie Fan

I. moon rays fit the crumbling street, cut in jaggered dreams: the fixer’s jig begins at midnight, when he runs sexed and screaming through the graveyard. and here, a bowl, a tongue;                        my landlord drinks mindlessly,             spits on […]


By Amy Wolstenholme

(i)        Kneel Sharp and edgeless, this submission. This sky, the shape of it hollow and wanting, Panting, as if all the light was simply a game, It had been night underneath, dark underneath, Poisoned, pounding underneath the skin all along. The pulse, the beat, the bone blades of the rain, The needle […]

who is giselle?

By Amelie Maurice-Jones

flailing november keels maple trees into fusilli shells. what do they let in? coughs of leaves on the bathroom sill. the drone of dragging wind skin to skin with the shower curtain, clawing at the floral pattern. it lies and lies and it wilts. giselle undresses before the floral pattern. skin oxford blue and shaky […]

Becoming Giselle: Poem in Two Acts

By Denisa Vítová

I. ‘Go crazy,’ he begs me, unfolds me – the arch, the heel, the tip of my foot; I’d crack if I could. plié, relevé One, two, three, four – I lost count of days, of years, ronde-des-jambs of how many times I had my heart muscle stretched too far. ‘Open up,’ he shouts, fouetté, […]

Who is Giselle?

By Jay Degenhardt

She isn’t alive doesn’t know how to dance the Tarantella, though she knows its principle – how skin beats on earth and venom seeps out does that sound too easy? sometimes it lasts for days “i’m out of skin now” Giselle knows the force it takes to sit up what a callus means when you […]