Jack Cooper

    Back to Normal He unfurled for nine months like paper folded more than eight times over, springing outwards in his eagerness, and this morning parts of him were birthed again.   MRI round three and it’s knockout, brain scans showing water before it...

Skendha Singh

    We spend a slow morning At this hour, the air is wind unstilled by the April sun. The mynahs are on errands – I hear less song more wing. I am warmed by the habitual honey lemon and beside me the dog is snoring. At this hour, the room is a cup and...

Louise McStravick

    Bake yourself some unicorns After Rishi Dastidar Start your day with a cheese board; wear lycra to work; decorate your eyelids with glitter made from reclaimed rainbow tears; slay your greetings — wink with both eyes — say goodbye instead of hello; only...

Lorelei Bacht

    What is there to say About petals? They precede seeds, And return every year: each happening Contains its own undoing, brings The next one in its wake. The world in a perpetual State of adolescence, everything Not quite this anymore, but not that yet. A...