Jenny Hockey

      Circulation Crouched above the stream he dug, known by his kid-along brother as the dry gulch, its circulation pump rarely switched on, I’m not just weeding but digging wormy compost into the banks, pruning the hebe and dredging winter’s detritus,...

Hannah Coyle

      Watching my grandmother view ‘The Song of the Lark’ ‘89/‘26: a Snám Suad   Peach skin wrists, Watch persists Her through time Suffusing. Scythe in hand, Walk the land- Heart commands Amusing. Lark in song Sings along, Mind made of Believing....

Mike Anderton

      You Can Eat the Evidence The peach parts badly around the stone. You give me the larger half and lick the torn place on your thumb. I have no objection to being alive at this particular table. Before breakfast I buried the calf. The spade struck a...

Hensley

      Knife on Butter Before the butcher touched bone, tendon, cartilage, hooks, scales, steel, he sat across from his wife with a blunt knife and waited for the butter to soften. Morning occupied the dining table in pieces: bread beneath a cloth,...

Anthony Lawrence

      Gathering Mushrooms in the Shadow of a Barn One had a ball of water that magnified the word shiver on its cap, and one had been torn and thrown against the wood, a soft bomb, leaving gills and skin. I knew enough to give them names and say the...

Ewen Glass

      Dog’s Life Listening to a memoir and discovering the writer’s dog is on the same SSRI as you is an odd feeling; I don’t horn in on a dog’s life, chase balls, sniff crotches, but our brains work in similar ways it seems: carrot,...