On the Road VII

By Charlotte Hughes

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by Charlotte Hughes and Wendy Call The buildings of my town cannot seethey are caught killed and stackedthey don’t notice the sun overheadHas it followed me across the border?It beats over their long hair-shingles,dead and brittle, missing in placesI live under the flat gray roofI am in the lit apartment, 33A […]

Your House

By SZ Shao

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by SZ Shao and Wendy Call your house,with eyes that holdboth grains of sandand the sun inhis vanishing sky your house,crowned with tilescoloured every shade ofhard and soft – who is emptiness,to make his homein this body?and who is darkness,to squat beneath tilespainted by the sun? your house,whose arteriesfeed the mountainsand […]

On the Dirty Road

By Alor Sahoo

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by Alor Sahoo and Wendy Call The windows of the village housesscour the beach for sand grains.They reflect on the distant sunthat leaves them in the dark.Their head of roof shingles hidden,dyed a soft black and red.Who’s inside that pink and yellow hair?Who’s inside that dark brick skin? Trekking to the […]

My Sister and I Return to the Imaginary Street of Our Ancestors, Which We Left Long Ago

By Mia Nelson

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by Mia Nelson and Wendy Call The houses have eyeslooking for every infinitesimal grain of sandas well as the distant sun,which today is un-brilliant above usand does not slip light on the houses’ scalps,their tiled hair braided softly in black and red. Who dances or breathes or dies under those roofs?Who […]

miembro a miembro

By April Egan

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by April Egan and Wendy Call your house and its town eyes saw grain until it saw a beachfar away, a sun that failed to shine through their shaking slats of hairswilling red and black and soft who dares live under yellow and pinkwho lives limb to limb with dark houses? […]

The Wake Of

By Jayant Kashyap

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by Jayant Kashyap and Wendy Call Now the houses, like the sun, have a yellow roof,or pink, their eyes shouting at the beach,but the sun, lost, doesn’t care today;there is no light in their plaited, textured hair;nobody knows who’s there in the houses that are now ruined. The path that leaves […]

Poem From Your Village

By Priya Abularach

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by Priya Abularach and Wendy Call And up here, the houses still crane forsomething like you – back whenthe world spun above their heads,deep gold globe, those buildingswere organ-warm and flushed.Now the sun is shadowed,the whole length of a year away. I hear them ask,who is home? who is home? Once […]

Sportn’t

By April Egan, Stas Forte and Mercury Tarantino

Download Sportn’t Download a text-only version of Sportn’t April Egan reads ‘Dock Leaf Liturgy’ from Sportn’t: Stas Forte reads ‘Obituary For A Body’ from Sportn’t: Mercury Tarantino reads ‘Sad Golden Eyed Boy of Olympus’ from Sportn’t:

Robert Hooke Reimagines London

By Jack Cooper

“[Robert Hooke] achieved fame as Surveyor to the City of London and chief assistant of Christopher Wren, helping to rebuild London after the Great Fire. He worked on designing the Monument, Royal Greenwich Observatory, St. Paul’s Cathedral, whose dome uses a method of construction conceived by Hooke, and Bethlem Royal Hospital.” – The Monument  The […]

Avore

By Amy Wolstenholme

When I’m alone I use the lost language, gathering up giltycups for your grave, thinking only of how much you loved yellow, how you’d stretch your hand to the sun in the archet, watching it settle in the grooves and galaxy of your palm. We’ve been having cazelty weather since you went, my love, the […]

Item 293.7 Rural History Museum, 30/04/2221

By Hannah Hodgson

In two hundred years all archaeologists will find of my life will be plastic bungs. I fall asleep on them. I am the princess who can’t feel her peas. They leave me bullseyed, looking as if a tick has bitten and left redness as its triumph. All they will find are these stoppers which prevent […]

brother and sister climbing dead oak

By Divya Mehrish

pretend you’re kicking the heart of the tree. you’re crushing me. you need to swing over that branch. i know how your legs work. we have the same body, remember? i’ve lived in our chest two years longer than you. are you gonna keep your maiden name when you get married? it’s also your maiden name, you idiot. i’m not a […]

An Edict In Destiny (Or: Helena Looking Back)

By Creagh Factor

I’m tracing the pressed flower on the page, dipping fragile sunrise, the place where we could be two angels. See, we wanted that paradise: two girls lying in the woods, safe in the cocoon of friendship, like they’re both fated for each other, not pursued, not men pushing out the lines, just Hermia and Helena. […]

Sharon, Massachusetts

By Dana Blatte

After Gaia Rajan The horizon ruptures in the shape of my name. Dana, Dana, it calls while I sleep on my belly in the woods. I will dream about the sky, how it unfolds like a bruised lid, how deer dung marks constellations in the dirt. Later, I will drive myself across town. I will […]

On Becoming a Changeling

By Ellora Sutton

The forsythia, like all stars, is dying its impermanent death. Gold, bronze, gone. I yank my old hair from the brush, leave it in parcels on the doorstep for the birds – magpie, robin, song thrush. The pheasants make their road accident sounds, twisted metal out their mouths. I am still and heavy so long […]

The Darkness Falls at Thy Behest

By Olivia Tuck

for Grandad Beyond the window, summer is packing up, the way we used to gather the leftovers, fold the picnic blanket and carry it – and the hamper – back to the car’s open boot. Once, you’d have told me why the air seems to cling. Now, the long shadows stare as you lie, your […]

I Wear a Set of Lungs as a Necklace

By Hannah Hodgson

I’ve never held an orange which has fully dried out, with its cloves loose and falling apart. I’m only experienced in fresh oranges, cloves displacing juice, a candle wrapped in tinfoil, dolly mixtures on cocktail sticks, the church a once-a-year attendance. The belltower is a place I’ll never visit again. Pulling joy with ropes after […]

Into The Tunnel (And Out Again)

By Jude Leese

I’d rather play in the park, I think but at least it’s not school. I’m somewhere completely new. It looks nice and clean but all the grown-ups look so sad and I don’t know why. They tell me it’s a fairly simple procedure but I’m not so sure I would have to sleep in this […]

Ode to Mr Motivator

By Ellora Sutton

lifting cans of rice pudding over my head counting to eight on the metronome of my hips eight more           eight more in the living room yes! I can balance on one leg and stay there like a tree half uprooted I had not thought of my body as a party I had not thought of […]

Migraine

By Victoria Fletcher

I do not want to be. I am a negative – if the grey light grazes me, I will bloom into uselessness, sepia spreading to my curled edges. I do not want the light to leak anymore. I lunge across my lurching floor and drag down the blinds, then fall onto my still-made bed; the […]