Bridget Khursheed

      Standing on top of the National Museum of Scotland We find the roof garden. Its little patch of moorland, birches, heather so perfect it might hide grouse turd, quartz, even Tunnock wrappers. A mountain peak handkerchief picnic-pack pooled until...

Brian China

      Coral Mother She was hard and soft, beach and rock, kids passed through like subatomic particles channelling dolphins, whales, sharks, tiddlers, tropical colours, grey and sombre, skin cut and skin kept in trauma; hair and loneliness sucked into...

Belinda Rimmer

      Orchard No more greenfinch, no more treecreeper, no more sparrow hawk; hedgerows slashed to make way for roads. Orchards torn up for houses – confused woodpeckers still seek dead-wood and bug. On a single patch of grass in the midst of brick and...

Karen Hodgson Pryce

      Blind   Eyelids still sewn, wild kitten rabbit dip-hopped across our path: where mum, what eat, who there.   In the field, crow blew at a hankied beak, crossed its legs, cawed bone pretended to read the Gazette.   We pondered...