Jack Westmore Together, we crossed the bridgewhich had once carried water into Lisbon, and in the distance, spiedthe other, more beautiful bridge, like a mirage, which spannedthe Tagus with its stream of glittering traffic. Two bridges that bridgedseparate bodies of water, like sentences in a paragraph,or brothers who struggle to have something in common.The afternoon … Continue reading Aguas Livre

            Jo Rigg There was a lot of waiting.A succession of bland rooms in the last of which Single Ladiesby Beyoncé was on the TV. I’m not making this upand it was before the sedation. I will admit to some wooziness after.There was no tea and biscuits to help me recover. Or maybethere was and I … Continue reading A day out at Marie Stopes

            David Harrison Horton There are mechanics and the soundsof wind that accompany every startof winter. I will not try to think too muchabout squirrel hibernationor my neighbor’s pigeons.They will get by,make do. Having never seen a mustard seed,I do like the parablesabout them. Having never been inside a black hole,I like to imagine the singularnon-existenceof … Continue reading Ode to the Dead Internet Bots

            Suze Kay Here is how it started: the river meanderedfrom the crow’s path and folded into silt.Little ribbon river full of fish, sunaddledswimming in a wet bed. Here, said the first man.He stopped his wagons and pulled heavy pinsfrom the yokes of his oxen. They set themselveslowing to the sedges. They died as all things … Continue reading On Ribbon Lake

            Kexin Huang A mooncake isn't just a moonas a cackle or a moon trappedin a case or a laughter too roundedto roll into a box or too octagonalto be a Chinese porcelain tearin an English-speaking museumor too yellow to be blue at allor too blue to be celebratedin a Chinese supermarket in Londonor a childhood … Continue reading Mooncake

            Ollie O'Neill I too have mistaken my good handfor a slammed door. Carried my own blood. When they asked where? I was too tired, tryingto hammer a nail into a ghost, to think about specifics. I’m aware I was a girl once but I feltmore like a choir, a chorus of murmuring. I didn’t say … Continue reading Little Proof

            Alicia Byrne Keane On Camden StreetI think I’m seeing that thing            I’ve seen a few times: when the wind lifts                        a pigeon-carcass wing, animatingwhat remains unstuck by blood.             With less distance, I realise            it’s an umbrella. Leopard-skin patterned,                        the dull pink and black of an evening dress. It’s the flutter of spoke and panel,            a seeming leap from … Continue reading Outcomes

            Philip Gross The first of Springand all the town's magnolias have set their fuses.Lit their small tight pilot lights of pink.Then a pause before one day, street by street andonly slightly out of sync,they flare into the arms of the wind.Grand arias of self-abandonment,a performance that’s its own applause,bouquets showering the stage… till there it … Continue reading All the Magnolias

            Nathaniel King the birds are tiny eco systemsthat remind me of nothing in particularour dishes all drown themselveswhile we’re scraping little cylindrical sporesfrom the bathroom ceiling with a de-icerwondering how the cat will take itwhen one of us doesn’t come back from the vetsmy beachless body installing an art nouveau lampin the basement of someone’s … Continue reading Sensitivity Training

            Amy McCauley I’m thinking about Anne Sexton’sawful rowing toward godand how a poem is an accident waiting to happenand how I don’t believe anybodydoesn’t want to be understood and howpoets love to say and how – and how – and howastonishedconfusedembarrassed I am by the fact of being aliveand how unnervingly smitten the world isand … Continue reading Rat Inside