‘They took all the trees And put ’em in a tree museum’ —Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi The exhibit is fully interactive. I sit on a chair (Maple), resting my arms on the sturdy wide plank (Red Oak) which I use as a desk. On my right, a pencil pot (Cherry, downed in a storm) and a coaster (Cork … Continue reading ‘I Write to You from a Tree Museum’ by Heidi Beck
There’s a blackbird on the wooden fence. It looks left, then right, stretches up and its yellow beak plucks an orange berry from the pyracantha. It looks left, then right, another berry, and one more. It flies off. My caravan at Birch Path 41 has been my home since March. The pyracantha, planted eight years ago, reaches into the garden behind and up into … Continue reading ‘Blackbird’ by Fokkina McDonnell
She married the heir was what they said. I was four, already in love with the ballroom’s cornices, the bride’s dress. What I heard was married the air. I chose my future then. The air is a good provider. He has given me one house of sky, one house of silk. I love his hands in my hair. He loves my untouched arches. Every … Continue reading ‘The Aerialist’ by Cheryl Pearson
Let all the bells of London sing! St Clements, Stepney, Aldgate, Bow Across blue skies your chimes take wing From shade-filled churches far below St Clements, Stepney, Aldgate, Bow Shoreditch peals in chorus calling From shade-filled churches far below Treble down to tenor falling Shoreditch peals in chorus calling Clapper tongues in towers aspiring Treble down to tenor falling Ring full circle Plain Bob … Continue reading ‘Let all the bells of London sing!’ by Nick Sorensen
Some nights, home by myself, I watch The Trauma on TV. I don’t even watch it, really, just leave it on in the background as I put away dishes, spray the countertop, wipe down the edges of things. At the end of each evening, I tell myself, it’s not a good movie. The sloppy jump cuts, the pickaxe motif, the soundtrack of car doors … Continue reading ‘The Trauma’ by Eve Ellis
Mother Tongue after Laforgue I dreamed I lived in a palace with billowing sheets, pages, moon empty, I asked if this was real. I searched each vacant room with tears and panic, in the corner the moon sat with her sad face saying I was talking nonsense. She said be careful those books can kill. I kept looking for a place where a word … Continue reading Two Poems by Jessica Mookherjee
Remedy against new hatreds and the common cold Once I was simply apple. Crisp, a little tart, depending on the dispensation of the sun and that year’s rain. But now I am all onion, unpeeling new layers of disbelief, unravelling fresh rage until I am just raw skin and exposed nerves. Invective seeps from my tongue. Can this be right? I sneeze, cough, rant … Continue reading Two Poems by Alexandra Citron
Night heart You’re late. I glum in the dim. Home on my own. Night-rain on the roof. You’re later. I fume and feed my sulk’s fire with little broken sticks of your thoughtlessness. Hours go on and my unanswered texts get less brusque, more hysteric. I get littler in this big bed. My sulk goes out and all I’ve got is the drip and … Continue reading Two Poems by Ramona Herdman
The Dress after The Dress I Wore to my Dad’s Funeral (drawn with fingers in graphite dust) 2017, a drawing by Helen Barff The dress she wore to her father’s funeral hangs on a hook in the shadows, a cowled priest shuffling in cloisters, solitary, bent head contemplating feet, mumbling, mumbling. The dress she wore to her father’s funeral hangs empty in the shadows, … Continue reading ‘The Dress’ by Peter O’Grady
Somewhere, near an open window at a time of year full of preparations for a tomorrow, these bustling flowers settle themselves. Each looks up from its place in the shade, spreads excitement. What a gift that you could bring them home: the whole year in your arms — a blue-white memory of snow, an aria for spring in a yellow soprano, the dense velvet … Continue reading ‘Cineraria’ by Maria Isakova Bennett
