Today’s choice
Previous poems
Jaymz Lea
Inflammation
My mum always says, I get where water wouldn’t.
When he drank me, I left myself somewhere sunken
living beside a leopard seal. I’m happiest after I’ve gotten wet
an ocean, a bath, a puddle, a bottle of Costco’s finest mineral.
Without water I panic, gulp down those unspeakable things
I don’t even have words for. Do you ever see pictures
from holidays in your childhood? I try not to.
I must gate keep my senses or else the child in me will rip
and shred everyone to pieces, gorge on their guilt
for not being there, not taking notice, not protecting
something so small and pretty and thoroughly good.
For never asking what was the matter. I’d leave them
in their own water, gurgling. I ask my sister, where was we
in that picture? She says, doll, your memory is terrible.
Jaymz Lea (he/they) is a queer human, mental health professional, published academic and poet. They write about human interiors – those othered outed and ousted. He’s an excitable nature geek, sharing much adult life with his ferocious cat, Effie. Insta: @hiraeth_tara
John Grey
Mountains behind us,
the land spreads out, flat and brittle,
like a discarded snakeskin.
Ian C. Webb
Two table’s worth of no-longer strangers
at dusk on a lane of nautical miles
basket of bread, bottles of wine, talk of home
and places called home
Ned Vessey
My father and I
skim the surface of conversations
something like those swallows do
down at the lake
J.S.Watts
On Neptune Street
you may dream of the tide,
its drag and lure
but your feet walk
on solid pavement.
Jenny Hockey
Crouched above the stream he dug,
known by his kid-along brother
as the dry gulch, its circulation pump
rarely switched on
Hannah Coyle
Peach skin wrists,
Watch persists
Her through time
Suffusing.
Mike Anderton
The peach stone is in my pocket.
I keep rubbing it
while you talk about rain.
Anthony Lawrence
One had a ball of water that magnified the word shiver
on its cap, and one had been torn and thrown
against the wood, a soft bomb, leaving gills and skin.
Ewen Glass
Listening to a memoir
and discovering the writer’s dog
is on the same SSRI as you
is an odd feeling;