by Leah Jun Oh | Feb 26, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Sourdough My hands heave with microcosmosis. Under my nails a miniscule municipality with pink glass dome, chipped. There is discontent amongst the denizens. Lactobacilli line up throw bottles of urine at Candida eat each other down dark passages...
by Leah Jun Oh | Feb 25, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Talking Dirty Ten years after you died I asked you Was it worth it? and this time you did not answer, your mouth being full of dirt. Dirt followed me around. I spent nights vacuuming and mopping, trying to beat out the echo of your footprints....
by Leah Jun Oh | Feb 24, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
The Nightwatchman Over his shoulder, I’m watching him chew sarnies out of grease-proof, at his last place of work, cracking a pack of Rich Tea. Between one snap and the next, he follows the beam of his torch, ferreting to the four corners of the...
by Leah Jun Oh | Feb 23, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
The Talk There are cheese and onion crisps in a flowered bowl, sliced tomatoes, strong tea, Mr Kipling’s Fondant Fancies, ye always loved those, all the news that matters, a family that doesn’t speak English has moved into Mrs McLeod’s God rest...
by Leah Jun Oh | Feb 22, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
To Stability The consultants agree your latest bloods and lung function indicate stability; that you’re likely to remain disastrously alive as a toothache buzzing like an electric saw applied to your wide-awake jaw, alive as a spinal injury that’s...
by Leah Jun Oh | Feb 21, 2022 | Featured, Poetry
Frenemy Ever noticed how your legs stop moving when you fly? As a crow makes a sudden dive up through the mirror. I too have mapped my body against clouds of glass, masked like a surgeon on the Canterbury 17. On arrival she says she’ll cut my...
