I dream I’m at the hospital
massaging your feet, your tiny feet

that I have freed from their tight
white stockings…

      Winter’s (love) sequence— We are in the bath, your hands around my back, mine around yours— everything covered in a fog.   *   The hills white under snow, you somewhat warm in a cardigan, corduroy, boots pressing upon the cold earth.   Jayant Kashyap, after having published two pamphlets, including Unaccomplished Cities (Ghost City Press, 2020), and a zine, Water (Skear Zines, 2021), is now working on a couple of longer collections about people, places and being in love.giantketchup.wordpress.com @jaydkash

When fog falls over Rough Tor,
the world creaks
on the end of a string…

      Snow’s Reset The roofs blend with the snow-laden clouds, borders softened so it’s only memory that differentiates my space from my neighbour’s. The wet smell confuses pets whose footprints meander over territorial edges, leave crazed patterns like a splattering of ink on the page, because a sheet of paper can never be left blank. It invites new discovery, a reset, chance to reinterpret the world, an erasing of prejudice and preconception. Not quite a new start, memories linger, shaping the whiteness into what was known. More a question of perception: that lump is my fence, that bump last year’s irises, under that smooth patch, mud covering and nurturing new growth.     Emma Lee’s publications include The Significance of a Dress (Arachne, 2020) and Ghosts in the Desert (IDP, 2015). She co-edited Over Land, Over Sea, (Five Leaves, 2015), was Reviews Editor for The Blue Nib, reviews for magazines and blogs at...

      Toughened Bark it takes a hefty blow sometimes to split you open a sharpened blade to split through years of tough old bark in the deeper channels feel how sap and resin thicken sap to carry nourishment keeping the woodiness supple resin to protect against parasites invading your core your heartwood see how flow of the sap slows skin stretches paper thin the blue veins branch out over dry twigs, feet and hands blood pools sluggishly in your limbs years of bearing the weight of pregnancies new green life budding yet still the heartwood beats strongly on it alone holds the resin, the fire feel how sharp sorrow and memories cut keen and deep ah but a sharpened blade is needed sometimes to split through these years of toughened protective bark now no blade but your own will cleave you to release your heart fire you must be your own woodsman coppicing your life pick up the axe, then a whole big heap of kindling is needed least another harsh winter sets in. to work!...