Jo Dingle

        Dawn And the raven suited night, feathered at the edges with the pinking guts of morning sends from its shearing seams a flock of cloth winged commuters to gather at platforms, beaks towards the yellow lights of the Greater Abellio service...

Rose Mary Boehm

      We didn’t know we were poor Sometimes we went hungry. Mother made dandelion salad and stingy-nettle soup. Potatoes and carrots in water with salt. Mother had been on the train again to visit farmer Ruttenberger. Left our last silver flatware with...

Vicky Morris

      Ghosted It’s not like he’d planned to wake up after 23 years of marriage, to find the taps turned off, everything dried out on the draining board, no one checking the mains, bulb gone in the hall, the garden too barbered for its own good. He laced...

Brian Johnstone

  Pledge What to do? You sign it, as they all do, sign it in your childish hand, descenders and ascenders imperfectly described, a name, its capitals, its lower case presented in the ink that’s drying even as you gaze at it, drying as you think yourself...