Today’s choice
Previous poems
Miriam Swales
STEMs
When I was 12, I knew the weight of a human head.
8 Heads in a Duffel Bag (a bit of dark comedy).
It grew from there. The curiosity. The calculations.
But, perhaps, that’s not true.
4 years before that, The Magic School Bus taught me
the pull of gravity and on which planet I’d rather live –
to be in line with the shapes around me – feminine
and, eventually, desirable. Physics was beyond …
This fed my interest in astronomy – later to be eclipsed
by chemistry. In between the two, I would stand –
back to the sun to see my frame stretch out: long legs
and hands like doughy shadows. If only.
Then came the calculations with fat – before we realised
it was all about calories. And, eventually, I wondered how
many pounds would be subtracted without one, or both,
legs. Like an animal, trapped, I chewed over the idea –
how to fit – lighten the scales. Like Venus. 91% there,
if you’re curious.
If only, like a lizard, I could pull off my limbs – bag them
in temporary storage. Or, be reborn – a rag doll severed
into a new dimension – legs first. Starting or ending there
because, of course, I couldn’t lose my head and still be me.
Miriam Swales is an American-British writer and educator living in Kent. She has been published in IS&T, was highly commended with Primers 2025 (Nine Arches Press), and was longlisted in The Rialto’s Nature and Place Competition (2026).
Alison Pritchard
By what rough science
were you given
this migraine of a name
Matt Gilbert
Disgust springs up from the guts
to meet a sprinting lump
of furry muscle.
Kathleen Bryson
I am the dreaming herpetogaster chimera and
I am part-and-parcel of the impossible animals project.
Scott Lilley
I’ve seen dozens of you about the Fylde,
face all vape, fatigue, some wild sense of
beard, black hair to border it all.
Rich Yates
The bird
crept up on him, threw its voice into an empty tree
Annie Kissack
Girl Awaits the Psychic Investigators They’re late. The table is laid with a clean cloth, all normal and neat. Our visitors, city men, may find it hard to navigate the path but we can wait. They hope to gather evidence of a haunting; whether he’ll...
Jim Murdoch
We don’t decide who we love.
Who we hate, yes,
who we’re jealous of,
but never who we end up loving.
Alex Stolis
It’s 16 below zero. Actual temp. We’re sole owners of the shore, windchill pushes it down to minus 36.
Ashia Mirza
Someone is taking a photo
at a wedding
of their baby
at a celebration.
