Poulami Somanya Ganguly It was a big house on the mountainswith a long drive leading to the front door.There was snow on the drive. I took my suitcasefrom the small boot. The living room had large windows.My sister’s child was petting a large dog.A friend had invited me. Don’t remember who.I drove there in a … Continue reading Northern Gothic

            Will Snelling Two gulls are giving each other an earfulcheek by jowl inside the wind-slapped cliff-face.Below them, we traipse across the shoreexperiencing nature’s glory in our flapping coatsas their argument scatters on the wind,coarse as grit between the teeth.We’re almost embarrassed to be listening inwhile they go at each other, presumably at oddsover who last … Continue reading Pett Level

            Amy L. King Whose hands were always busy carving something;table legs, red meat from the butcher, our small names into the belly of a tree. Erin, who held meby the wrist whenever she led us through a crowd. Who made sure I knew how easy it wasto throw a woman over her shoulder. Whose name … Continue reading Last Poem for Erin

            Sophia Argyris Every moment I’m rehearsing escape.Our whole species is thinking it,considering the possibility of lifeon better planets. I’ve learnt to blendthe senses; looking is touching, hearingis taste. I know when you’re watchingand move in more serpentine ways.I say This is fun let’s keep dancing,while in another city someoneis fighting a fascist and in a … Continue reading Exit Strategies

            Claire Sosienski Smith I am a wormand I am practisinghow to be a poet I go to my friendsand I ask them if theythink my poetry is any good they say, we don’tknow if your poetryis any goodwe haven’t seen it I say, that is not the pointyou are meant to say yes I am … Continue reading Becoming a poet

            Anna Kibbey when holding a pair of secateurs, so whydo I prune with so little conviction, plantbulbs with no faith they’ll come to anything? Only the green tongues of the youngtulips know nothing of frost, babblinglike toddlers in a nursing home. Anna Kibbey is a second-year MA student at The Poetry School. Her work has been published … Continue reading I am at my most adult

            Charlotte Moore Because I have this reason that I have. And it is sadTo me now to remember the day in April on whichI decided it wasn’t going to cut it, really, being scared.I think, when I am being honest. I was never afraid. I was guilty.I felt shame when I heard the wings bend … Continue reading I Am No Longer Afraid of Pigeons

            Aisling Towl Hippolytus goes out for coffee and bagels. Says he’s feeding me up for winter, more to hold. Asks if I’ll take his dog hunting while he’s abroad. I tell him I’ve not felt like this for a long time. He tells me he’s not felt like this, ever. I met the last girl … Continue reading Hippolytus Redux

            Vik Shirley Squall There is a strong gale blowing in David Lynch’s hair. I am trying to make my way through his tresses, but it is near-on impossible and there is freezing cold sea spray blowing in my face. Up ahead I see a lighthouse and its keeper beckoning me from its balcony. When I … Continue reading from ‘Inside David Lynch’s Hair’

            Sarah Edwards Sarah Edwards is a writer and editor in Durham, North Carolina. She has work published in Subtropics, The Yale Review, Annulet, The Stinging Fly, Ninth Letter, no tokens, The Sycamore Review, and The Carolina Quarterly, among other publications.