Zelda Chappel

      Exhalations after Liz Berry Hot, the rhythm of our exhalations is a pigeon flock disturbed. Without reference, my dialect is unplaced so swap me your snicket for a cut and I’ll lend you my bones like brittle spires, help you find a...

Diana Brodie

      Happy Some days he’s happy. On Thursdays, he’s happy. When I leave home on work days, wheel my bike from the shed, wave to him one last goodbye, he’s looking almost jaunty, wearing his favourite striped tie. On these days, he’s up early, sings on...

Seth Crook

      Three Years The night seems friendly, almost kind. Is it because you’re here, I wonder, standing on the edge of things, your pretty toes firmly present? You do not speak. But I do. I confess my love over and over. Everything I do confesses...

Kitty Coles

    The Thin Woman There has always been another woman inside me, a small one who wears this flesh of mine like a coat, hiding her pure self in the folds of my flesh, the plenitude of thighs, ripeness of belly. Now her murmurs grow louder. The house is...