Steph Morris

      Tag He arrived with a Christian name stitched in place, forwards and backwards down each folded-back end. On the first day the other boys and girls tore it off, taking the surrounding cloth along. No way would they let him keep that tag. They saw...

Steve Akinkuolie

    Cataclysm from the Cup The morning was a treacherous thing. It had arrived in the slow, reluctant way of unpaid debts, carrying the full weight of harmattan’s mischief. The air was dry, brittle, waiting to crack at the first sign of movement. Outside,...

Eryn McDonald

    Ancient Rocks After Jon Robinson Like ancient rocks lying where they please I find myself prone amongst chilly grass Wrapped in a red windbreaker Bike discarded at my side The sky an invite to breathe in its expanse It is here that the day breaks apart...

Gordan Struić

    In Transit The carriage hums — rows of bowed heads, fingers scrolling, eyes tethered to small glowing screens. Outside, the city slides by, blurred lines of glass and rain. I watch my own reflection — half-face, half-shadow, and behind me, someone lifts...

Stephen Keeler

    Broken biscuits for H and PB The days were huge and kind and sometimes after school we’d buy a bag of broken biscuits for the long walk home across the heavy heat of afternoon on lucky days she wouldn’t take the pennies offered up in supplication for the...

Joseph Blythe

    Wallpaper I swear I felt the swirly patterned paper rip from the walls of my childhood bedroom. It was the same stained cream shade as my skin – pockmarked, cut and scabbed, dry and peeling – and I felt it tearing, dragging pieces of my grey flesh with...