beam

      I am recovering from the crying I did yesterday I thought about it downstairs felt the low hum of a migraine beginning to squeal I prefer falling down the stairs I prefer watching a knife drop from my hand and land in my nail bed I prefer taking...

Sharon Phillips

      Bay of Pigs Our mums pushed us on the swings and talked about the end of the world. Russians, they said, nuclear bombs, radioactive. What if? You never knew what might happen, bloody Commies, iron curtain, on telly. Ssh. The children. My mum...

Shanta Acharya

      It It is the singularity of black holes a swarm of hummingbird hawk-moths  the insatiable hunger of caterpillars smile of a camel, song of a nightingale  the moon frail as the edge of a fingernail – It is dirty as a clam, economical as ants dark...

Robert Nisbet

      Tones  A story in three remembered voices These were the voices which really seemed to shift things. She went, in her finals year, to a surgery, painted pre-war brown and cream, along from the Mumbles pier. There she heard the fat doctor, beaming...