Hands Clasped by Alice Godliman
We hear rumours of her journey as she flies towards us through Europe. Her cloak covers towns first, the busy ports, then it grows outwards from the seams of main roads. It will cover us all in time. Father Matthew says it is Pestilence sent from above, punishing us for…
On a Bench by the Waters of Oblivion by E. Samples
I sit beside you, strangerAnd waitA once-filled mindMy black sunflower seedsNow half sown Introductions are necessary I’m terrible with namesWe met before, you sayThe hillside, sanctuary Classroom, dinner tableCreek—To name a few Muted voicesScreen-strained lonelinessAnxiety and doubtWindows shutteredI drain the glass and wipeWater droplets from my mouth I don’t answer you, strangerAnd…
Racing a Fever Dream for Pinks by E. Samples
Maybe I should consult the devil. Maybe I should embrace world-revvingnightshade sonnets until clovenharmonies etch fountain pen rhythmsup and down my spine. Maybe I should appreciate unaccomplished blank space;Ride the empty page instead of enslaving meter and phrase.Maybe I should idle-out, back to the ground and exhaust the weight of symbols…
World Building by Lucy Whitehead
If years from now archaeologists excavate our life togetherthey’ll uncover a entire culture, a civilisation.They’ll create a typology of our artifacts, the forks and kniveswe selected that year we moved into our third flat,the curve of them, the weight, the quality. They’ll reconstruct the chronology of our mugcollection, understand the stratigraphy…
The Wayfarer by V.C. McCabe
The fence had been there ever since Billy could remember. Ugly, gnarled brown wood tightly banded together with vicious curls of barb wire like a crown of thorns on top. The fence stood as tall as a full-grown man and ran the length of the boundary between his family’s property…
The Little People or Reflections on Driving Past Murdock McInnis by J.S. MacLean
When we drove past that farmMomma would always say that her Auntie would always saythat those little hillswere the kind of hillswhere the Little People liked to stay. I’d ask if anyone ever said they saw themand she would say“no, but the Old People believedthat they were good luck even ifthey liked mischief.” …
Aunt Arran by Lia Robles
It is dark and red outside. Dark and red like the night our parents were killed. We sit together, bundled close against a rock outcropping, a few feet from the train track, a few feet from where we had been left. The train station that isn’t. Just a stop, really.…
Next of Kin by Kristin Garth
From crumbling house, hole in the yard, corpsecollected, curated in jars. Ownerarrested, no explanation, remorsewill end upon a gallows, a loner,in due course. One remains to be dealt with,taken away, adolescent in ragstoo young to stay all alone in this filth,her father’s crime scene. Her moth-bitten baginside a carriage pristine, relations will…
You May Also Like
In Spirit by Nick Perilli
The Well by Ray Ball
Paradise Park by Amy Charlotte Kean
They Did Not Know by Kristin Garth
In cheval mirror you will stare, pilfered brush, poised in mid-air, like serrated blade a stranger proffered late last night — silver lessons against your rib cage, light. Made a dimming map — organs, veins — bloodlettingexplained, damp skin, arterial spray,how deep daggers descend in denouementof tragedy. Close your eyes, not to pray, see skeletons resembling…
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward John Ford by Daniel Ellis
From the trunk of his rented Citroën the coward John Ford drew his Panaflex camera, his beret, and his clapperboard. He would need all of that apparatus here, in the Uffizi, on the trail of Jesse James. Outside, Ford appreciated the Romanesque grandeur of the place, but it was not the…
Take Us On A Journey To Somewhen
