Marc Vincenz

        Such a Victorian The bird that flutters reaches out Into time; knee-deep in nerve gas, At the cemetery gates, the children play Like half-opened flowers on a breeze; but, Deep in the coffers beneath that layer of non- Sense all along the...

John Lynch

      Diagnosis I make lists for her, fill in the calendar, get her to keep a diary. She’s knitting again, a scarf to start with, reading now too – hides her romances amongst the bedsheets in the linen basket. She stumbles, says, Doris when she...

kelsey blacklight

      i don’t need to puncture my body or stain my face or pour bleach on my scalp to feel beautiful.     kelsey blacklight (@slntstrwbrry) is a writer from the USA. They have appeared in wingless dreamer and enjoy guacamole, live music,...

Subitha Baghirathan

      Sari shop, Easton A step through a doorway An overnight ‘plane journey A month’s ship voyage Easton to Lahore By pushing open a door. A woman closer to death than birth Lies swaddled in the corner Atop a pile of rainbow-plush rugs Princess and the...

Paul Case

    Bridges They push forward, vibrating in their ecstatic skirmish, voices unified over gang choruses, clenched fists raised toward the ceiling. They might glimpse us, on the cusp stage lights’ sweep, hidden like old toys. We’ll be softly nodding our heads...

Malavika

    THINGS I REGRET. A professor. My love. Another professor. Her caste. Two countries. Not sure which one. Not eating on time. Not doing sprints. The girl in the street I broke a wind chimer of. Hotel rooms. Not raising voice. Vaccines but unrecognised....