Two poems by Robert Peake

    Letter to the Last Megafauna My friends, you wouldn’t like it here, moss squelching underfoot, lean drizzle tickling your rivulets, bare trees. We’d give you names like Babar, Dumbo, Topsy, then shackle your legs for safety (ours), parade you in a car for entertainment (ours). Everywhere we go (archaeology shows) the giants disappear – save you, the last of the mammoths, eyelid creased … Continue reading Two poems by Robert Peake

Two poems by Khairani Barokka

  medusozoa, neuropathic pain in kalimantan, a lake so inland in exile that jellyfish there have no sense of sting; divers swim at ease, brushing legs against ghosts. evolving out of our sense of poisoning tentacles is possibility; breathe this. the world is dying, yet holds both my enduring corpus and animals whose limbs have wept away all hurt. this is blessed plurality of sense. … Continue reading Two poems by Khairani Barokka

Two poems by Cynthia Miller

    The last hour on the flight deck Shirt too tight, a splotch of mustard (Hokkein noodles? egg salad?) from lunch eaten somewhere over the Arctic, steady heartbeat of lights blinking circadian rhythms. Already his body is waking up when it shouldn’t be, sun pulling at him from the other side of the world. Tray tables stowed. The good coffee snuck into the galley … Continue reading Two poems by Cynthia Miller

Two poems by Jacqueline Saphra

All My Mad Mothers My mother gathered every yellow object she could find: daffodils and gorgeous shawls, little pots of bile and piles of lemons. Once we caught her with a pair of fishnet stockings on a stick, trying to catch the sun. My mother never travelled anywhere without her flippers, goggles and a snorkel. She’d strip at any opportunity: The Thames, The Serpentine, the … Continue reading Two poems by Jacqueline Saphra

‘Papers’ by Roy McFarlane

Papers The day I was called into my mother’s bedroom the smell of cornmeal porridge still coloured the air, windowsills full of plants bloomed and dresses half-done hung from wardrobe doors and her Singer sewing machine came to rest like a mail train arriving at its final destination, foot off the pedal, radio turned down, she beckoned, touched me with those loving hands. Shrouded in … Continue reading ‘Papers’ by Roy McFarlane