Beth McDonough

      We observe this word, abscission turn fashionable, hang in air. Once botanists’ part-property, at least cased in scientific sights; now – in this most now of times – it’s ours. Perhaps this year holds terms longer, closer than is usual. Leaves in...

Sue Spiers

    Coupling with Jane Austen Even so. You would be surprised, although perhaps you had surmised, to hear how often I watched you, sometimes I was positive you knew how often I was on the point of falling down on your bed and crawling in with you. I have...

Sandra Galton

      Conjure There are no horses in the field opposite, only a pale stubble cut to the quick. No, there are no horses, but I can conjure them, their autumn coats, the brisk shiver of sinewed necks in the stippled mist that clings like breath. I do not...

Daniel Wade

      Rapids When he got kicked out in second year for smoking hash on the Astroturf, relief heaved from everyone’s throat. No longer would we have to fear his ape-like strut, fists’ basalt salvo, rain-grey tracksuit, knife-like stare. There were lads...