Moira Garland

        How the Wych-elm Once Reached tall as the absentee house. How the girl moored her hands and heart     charmed by riven bark.   How its name was thrilling     frightening as the adults     disguised witches. How the woman returns...

Maureen Jivani

      Lovely Feet I dream I’m at the hospital massaging your feet, your tiny feet that I have freed from their tight white stockings and covered in aromatic oils, as your lover lies beside you stroking your lioness head which turns and gently purrs at...

Jayant Kashyap

      Winter’s (love) sequence— We are in the bath, your hands around my back, mine around yours— everything covered in a fog.   *   The hills white under snow, you somewhat warm in a cardigan, corduroy, boots pressing upon the cold earth....

Jane Holland

      Rough Tor When fog falls over Rough Tor, the world creaks on the end of a string, its veils too flimsy, dancing like a threadbare kite on the wind, a farm here, there the trembling memories of a hill, the day coated all in white, its bright...

Emma Lee

      Snow’s Reset The roofs blend with the snow-laden clouds, borders softened so it’s only memory that differentiates my space from my neighbour’s. The wet smell confuses pets whose footprints meander over territorial edges, leave crazed patterns like...

Lisa Rossetti

      Toughened Bark it takes a hefty blow sometimes to split you open a sharpened blade to split through years of tough old bark in the deeper channels feel how sap and resin thicken sap to carry nourishment keeping the woodiness supple resin to...