Bernardine Coverley remembers the hot and the red

HotSmall suns, they bring the lightof Seville into my kitchen.Cut and slice them into moltenpieces, douse the glow, infusion. Stir them into mermeladaa pan of orange volcanosweet and tart as a moorish kiss.In the dark days of the year’sturn, I cook the colour of...

Sarah Louise is on the road after the show

AftershowThe fire of the show cools to content with the soft hum of the radioThe headlights will guide us home to our cold, hushed abodeYou asleep and me alone with the road and the stars and the things I have yet to become* Sarah Louise is a singer/songwriter who...

Deborah Gordon wants nothing fancy

MermaidsDown on the nudist beach –Holding hands.Drumming up stories,Lies and fantasiesOf some neat country,Some, arcane hemisphereYou are hoping to take me toLate summer,When the air is fresherAnd the sea is more clearAnd the mermaids appear,In their dozens,Not far...

John Swain has an atlas of signs

Atlas of SignsFrom the valleypeople traveled,the bones of cattle staked like a gate.I sought the acerbic shadeof the manchineel treewhere sand cliffs dissolve into tideslike bronze idols or collapsing horses.The shadow of a frigatebird armorsmy already guarded...