Helen Calcutt

      A conversation with my daughter about my brother’s suicide She is awake. The moon is bright and the clouds have parted. The trees are painted trees, living a still life. She tells me my brother is in the moon. I’ve bathed her, given her milk and...

Jessica Mookherjee

      Honey Shot   Samson knows the sound of lies and scissors, clings to some muscle he used to have. Jumping through hoops to stay alive. You don’t need to impress me.            Snip, slash in a dirty flat, he gathers bottles, cans, vials, he...