Helen Finney on International Women’s Day

      The Gift A walk in the park. I see a girl sitting cross-legged on the grass, in front of her a box tied neatly with red ribbon, she stares at it, her chin resting in her palms. She doesn’t move. I watch others watching till a boy approaches, he...

Bern Butler

      First Snow When snow fell at night, it was her future decided in hushed tones outside the room where she slept, so in the morning when she rose her world had been swapped, swivelled like a set in a play, permitting her (as she stepped out) to...
The Boxer by Tom Stockley

The Boxer by Tom Stockley

(content warning for mental illness) the boxer by Tom Stockley three months ago, i was stood here wishing more than anything to fall into the water, to stop feeling so much pain for just existing three months later, i walked past saw a man get off his bike, stand...

Helen Grant

    Oranges On a dark Friday, in the early night I walked past an orange on the pavement by a parked ambulance, in a setback carpark, under faltering streetlights and hefty air. No stars were shining but this orange seemed to do so, and for a fleeting moment...