Jena Woodhouse

    Granules in the Hourglass Syllables cascade through time, granules in an hourglass, to recombine, cohere into a word, a phrase, poetic line. Language reinvents itself, coruscates in signs on walls; falls silent, mute as clay and stone on tablets that...

Martin Rieser

      …tell it slant The river is an old demon & my heart is an infirm creature The river is sure of its way & my heart is capable of lies. The river is incapable of lies & my heart is beating,  beat on beat. The river flows from high to low...

Sreeja Naskar

      everything i love is out to sea glass-tooth morning. salt mouth. i left the stove on just to feel wanted. the sea wrote back once— in lowercase. smudged. untranslated. i drank it anyway. // the sun fell behind me like a dog you didn’t name. didn’t...

Gordan Struić

    To no one After you deleted your profile, I had no number. No email. No name to search. Just a blinking cursor where you used to reply. Still — I kept writing. Sometimes just: “Hi.” Or “Would you have answered today?” Or “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Or...

Margaret Poynor-Clark

      Releasing My Stays Inside my bedroom I take a fresh blade pull off my jumper, examine the ladder in front of the mirror cut through my laces rung by rung, watch my grey marbled flesh emerge from its carapace, fold by fold. I’m letting go,...

Jenny Hockey

      That’s when she went to ground, after she disobeyed, painted her plastic tea set red, hidden away in the playhouse they built down where bindweed draped, where people not like us lived behind the hedge, heard but not seen, that’s where she went to...