by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | May 24, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Samsara if samsara’s concrete please don’t come back as black jackal for I live in Norwich nor spineless worm as I don’t have a lawn ditto poppy fields with my hay fever nor breeze I don’t open those windows now so I might not hear you nor beige...
by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | May 23, 2026 | Featured, Prose
THE JUMBLE SALE The entry fee for the jumble sale at the homeless mission costs 20 pence or a pair of men’s jeans. I don’t have a pair of jeans with me would you believe. My quiet piece of silver plinks into the plastic bucket, and I reflect what...
by Zakia Carpenter-Hall | May 22, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Mother Leaves Post-it Notes on my Pillow and Signs with a Smiley I grew up on a farm so I should know all about expensive cows and free milk. You’re taking being a debutante much too literally. We only meant to give permission for you to make a...
by Helen Ivory | May 21, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
Deeper Than After Maggie Nelson’s Bluets There is the green that birthed all pine trees. I had a green turtle necklace just like that once, I lost it, not in a pocket, not under my bed, not down a drain, just lost. The shell wasn’t turquoise not...
by Helen Ivory | May 20, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
After Gaston Bachelard and Sabrina Carpenter We were the housing and the housed, meaning nothing except that we were always occupied, or to put it simply never out. After a while we walked like we were on stilts made from string and sweetcorn...
by Helen Ivory | May 19, 2026 | Featured, Poetry
May long weekend Coming home to days of heat trapped beyond the door, to time skewed by time away, the house bigger and smaller than before. As if magnified, a hornet lies dead by the baffling window ridiculously detailed and weightless in the...
