Sam Hickford

      A Willow-Tree in Hiroshima Softly & impossibly, her roots still beckon growth. It is a slow hope she is drawing. Their ends were swift – echoes in the floorboards. I am reliving it, since I am solitary. A thrawning suffocation grabs the...

Julian Dobson

      Wave We have learned to wave distantly through glowing windows    glimpsing a well-placed bookcase or houseplant imagining the corners of a room their piled-up flotsam we have learned not to ask what happens at the watershed we observe flows   ...

Sue Spiers

    The Glow I recognise the tingle at my nape my face melts, oxters darken, make-up slides, instantly wet through layers meant to cope. Tissues, useless until the wave subsides, my bright red fan announces to the place the hormone flush that’s difficult to...

Elizabeth Gibson

      The golden hare I colour in a hare for my Mam for her birthday, hop between radio channels and pencil shades: red to maroon, blue to indigo, brown to russet, softest gold for the hare and the glow around it. It is long in body and limb and ear,...