Jean Atkin

      Finders We scoured the parish tip most weeks, when we were kids. We clambered it in wellies.  Ferals, we scavenged in the debris of the adults’ lives. Like a mad deck shuffled, our tip turned up a fat brown teapot without a lid/ a yellow rubber...

Sally Festing

      A Basket of Nettles and Larks Life lines still arc round the base of each thumb though the bulk of hand’s muscle mass lies in the thenar bellies, now flat as linoleum and tendons smart branches when I brace fingers, interrupting hillocks of skin....

Joe Crocker

      The Sky Was Falling There was always, of course, the cold – its freezing pretty fingerprints on our side of the pane. While we lay loved beneath the loaded blankets, a new day shivered through the filigree and mum stretched vests before the 2 bar...

Julie Sheridan

      Love Birds Agapornis They married in a chapel of black steel bars, tethered up their feathers to serve as stained glass. One year in and their chirrups are still hymeneal. Humans can’t help but pass by and beam at this pair, bonded for life. All...

Maxine Sibihwana

      Barbecue here, water does not run. instead it sits obediently in old plastic containers here, where monkey steals avocado when window is open, here where white jesus hangs from the cross and weeps into the food, where father is a tree and mother...

Lesley Curwen

      Ringed Her feet snagged in a cleverly-placed net my sister waits for him to untangle her, to hold her head still between thick fingers, feather ruff ticking in each rapid breath, her eyes black and bright, body eclipsed by the size of him, nothing...