Christmas is the end of the world
It took some adjusting
but we’re looking forward to it now.
Next door have hung the bunting out,
lines and lines of LOVE and PEACE
which would have cost the earth
until we realised there was no point
in money any more. Shops put up signs:
Take what you want.
Which was challenging.
What did we want?
Some families gathered together,
others stayed apart. By lunchtime,
most wished they’d picked the other option.
You and I, we kept our distance
although we sent texts to friends,
We loved you.
Drink was a balm. And sugar.
Netflix took our minds off things
until dusk when the electricity crashed.
What did we want?
Hot sex with strangers, but even
long-standing partners like us
could take on new shapes
when we wouldn’t see each other again.
After a while we got tired.
We blew dust off maps, spread them out
over the floor, took turns in pointing,
Hey, that’s where we’ll go. Right there.
Our neighbours went to bed
but we could still see the bunting twist
in the rising wind.
The Devil’s coming, you said.
We hung up a disco ball and danced.
I put my hand on your heart,
came up against nothing.
Sarah Salway is a poet, novelist and journalist based in Kent. A former Canterbury Laureate and RLF Fellow at the LSE, she is the author of three novels, including Something Beginning With (Bloomsbury), one collection of short stories and two poetry collections. Her first collection of flash fiction, Not Sorry, was published by Valley Press in October 2021.
The day after you’ve been dumped
you’re in the middle aisle, overcome
by what’s on offer: everything, from
luminous stars to stollen and candles,
there’s even a musical cactus you find
tacky on so many levels, a phrase
you’ve tried hard to wean yourself off
because he told you time and again
it was naff, now you don’t give a toss,
you’ve had enough of being patronised
about your lexical choices, and there’s
the sex he said never actually ignited,
we can be friends, I’m not blaming you,
nothing wrong with being a bit vanilla,
before he topped up your glass and left
you with the bill, strutting off to the beat
of a carol squeaking from his earphones,
the very same carol now being tooted
by the cactus from the middle aisle you’ve
selected as his perfect Christmas gift.
Sharon Phillips started writing poetry when she retired from her career in education. Since then, her poems have appeared in print and online journals and anthologies, most recently in Atrium, Ink Sweat and Tears and We’re All In It Together (Grist Books). In 2022 her poem ‘Cut’ came third in the Leeds Poetry Festival competition and another poem, ‘Oh Karen’ was highly commended in the Yaffle poetry competition.
I wanted to be Mary
She got to wear the blue robe and white veil,
feminine, pretty Mary with her loyal Joseph.
She got to rock the tiny baby, gentle Jesus,
accept the gifts of Magi, rich and rare.
I got the part of Angel Gabriel, pure white,
spouting lots of crap about tidings and joy.
I got the tinsel halo that bobs on a bit of wire,
to stand on high looking down from stage blocks.
They told me my lines were special, my voice
big and bold for spreading news to all mankind.
They told me I was more important than silent,
lovely Mary, an archangel for crying out loud.
But Gabriel was a bloke, a man angel, a lad,
so what chance had I to settle down all pure.
I wanted to be Holy Mary, the Mother of God –
hell – Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey.
Pat Edwards is a writer, reviewer and workshop leader from mid Wales. Her work has appeared in Magma, Prole, Atrium, IS&T and others. During more normal times she hosts Verbatim open mic nights and curates Welshpool Poetry Festival. Pat has two pamphlets: Only Blood (Yaffle 2019) and Kissing in the Dark (Indigo Dreams 2020).