Chrissy Banks

      The pink and the brown   So many times I walked head down   half asleep along that ordinary road to school until the day I saw the cherry trees sick of standing around bored and invisible all at once dressed up sinewy brown limbs embellished with...

Anne Donnellan

      Lent As if it wasn’t enough cycling three miles to eight o’clock mass on cold white mornings I stayed in the chapel after the final blessing too early for class in the Colaiste I filled in time around the shadowy stations of the cross the...

Sarah Thorne

      Collateral Damage The darkening sky skids past at sixty miles an hour. My eyes are keeping a vigil over the dead fringes of tarmac either side of the road as I drive, flicking from the cars in front of me to the next unidentified something lying...

Philip Gross

      Charm Enough of scorch, scald, sore- and rawness. Sometimes flesh longs for eclipse. Mesh over mesh, compact me with cool plaster. Swaddling clothes.  Dry crust.  Sarcophagus. A scratch, a bramble rip… a mere sly snick from a page of your...