Shanta Acharya

      It It is the singularity of black holes a swarm of hummingbird hawk-moths  the insatiable hunger of caterpillars smile of a camel, song of a nightingale  the moon frail as the edge of a fingernail – It is dirty as a clam, economical as ants dark...

Robert Nisbet

      Tones  A story in three remembered voices These were the voices which really seemed to shift things. She went, in her finals year, to a surgery, painted pre-war brown and cream, along from the Mumbles pier. There she heard the fat doctor, beaming...

Mona Bedi

      Four Haiku * a date with myself inside the fortune cookie a love note * migraine… the storm fails to subside * museum tour my husband lingers at the kamasutra painting * renovation I refuse to remove the pigeon’s nest    ...

Glenn Hubbard

      Outcrops Heaps topped by smaller rocks. The raffish angles of designer boulders. Jenga towers of tipsy stone. Lizard colony. Ombligo de Venus. Navelwort in paradise. Darkness; damp. Foxgloved fissures. Small pools filling fingerholds: finger...

Olivia Tuck

      Vaccine The needle hits the deltoid with a moon-cold urgency; its jolt of fluid is ice barely thawed. Relax – sharp scratch. I hold myself against this detergent-white light. On the journey home, my pupils dilate: for the first time in months, I...

Kathleen McPhilemy

      The Poetry Arm Today was all left-handed. I’ve slapped it on the wrist, wrapped what it’s written, hidden in a file, locked behind a password: a little bomb of bitterness I couldn’t post online. My left hand’s the clumsy one blundering on the...