Mary Ford Neal I. Day One She goes straight from the balcony to the Curia offices and dismisses all the men. She calls in the decorators and gives them carte blanche – they paint the Sistine ceiling in vivid stripes, and she says it’s ADORABLE. She sells the Pièta and the rest of the treasures … Continue reading Triptych

            Clare Martin When my friend buried her husband, she placed the sheet musicfor Debussey’s Suite Bergamesque in the coffin and tilted a takeaway cup of flat white beside the headstone.When the Egyptians buried their dead, they painted the tomb walls  with mounds of figs, fish, terra cotta jars of beer.Vikings lined their graves with knives, spindle whorls, … Continue reading The Talisman

            Billie Manning Skin cold, then hot, then icy again.Hairline wet as a licked kit.She considers screaming a long scream into her mother’s face.She considers the sparrowhawk, its eyes green and then yellow.She should write down the routine, how to keep out the lynx.You are a staircase turned the wrong way, her mother said once.White marble … Continue reading In this version Iphigenia touches herself

            Sarah Lasoye Sarah Lasoye is a poet and writer from London, based in Sheffield. She is an alumna of the Barbican Young Poets, Octavia Poetry Collective, and Apples and Snakes' Poetry in Performance programmes. She was shortlisted for the Jerwood Poetry Fellowship 2021, and her work has been featured in Porridge Magazine, Bath Magg, The … Continue reading Good Company

            Alia Kobuszko Rain and then it came – this thirstall at once like a terrible thing:the mud-caked dog on the carpetthe crow on the windowsill, dragging his feet.Why should they hold the monopoly on grief?Last week in the supermarket I realisedmarigolds are more beautiful to me now than ever.I can't stand to look at them … Continue reading My sadness is a permeable membrane

            Cleo Henry I am sorry to tell youthat in my short lifeI have failed to savetwo drowning swimmers. Their shaved chests, their blue caps -they could almost be twins.It could almost have beenthe same day twice. I dream that people stop mein the street, tell meswimmers often die this waybut that doesn’t explainwhy the water … Continue reading My Short Life

            Jen Feroze and the guy I read aboutwho can taste the London Underground Map.Maida Vale tangs with marmalade pith;Tower Hill’s a ginger beer ring pull, spice and fizz;Queensway is thick, sweet, rimmed with cream.This is about the falling, mind you,not necessarily the landing.I think about my mum’s best friend – colourblind, defining hues on others’ … Continue reading I think about falling in love

            Katie O'Pray I feel fraudulent in the meeting church. Playing guardianfor my big sister. Using up the water in the urn. The othercarers seem to know each other, how grief sits in eachcare-ee’s days, but some repeat it for our benefitwhen it’s their turn to share. Someone’s paid supportworker eyes the clock, taps on the … Continue reading The Bereavement Group

            Christopher Lloyd I imagine the plane exploding mid-air:shatter of metal & couples holding hands or, if not a blast, then the plane disappearing:we dip into a cloud & fail to emerge or, maybe we just cartwheel into the water:pierce the sea textured like elephant hide / shadows buoy on the water's surface sofar from where … Continue reading turbulence

            Christopher Lloyd I keep having this nightmare where I am bitten by babies & cats.it’s always the same: the tooth lodges in that arc between thumb& index. one night, a baby sheds its exterior, skin slipping in alldirections. it doesn’t seem to be in distress. I wake up soaked &it’s like I’m living in that … Continue reading the thing behind the diner in Mulholland Drive