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      Old Master Goya was an octopus that smelt of funerals on Mondays. Sundays, the scent of getting ready. Goya liked to swim with sensory stimulus. He would splash about his palette. Goya made two circles on a first encounter. His grip was firm, a...

      Herb of the Sun The pain comes plucked from a field in garlands of sunlight. So many women weave aches into strings of marigolds, with bent backs from children, livelihoods of pouring orange petals, scents of sweet incense and the sunlight is...

      Honesty Lunaria annua Honesty has her green season, her red season, keeping the next generation in her purse, close to her chest, held in. After many moons I am perhaps readying to speak. All the windows in my house are broken, my feet cold, the...

      Jess Phillips reads the names, again Each year in March, on the eighth day, the one we’re allowed to call ours, slowly, Jess reads our names, not the bitch, slut, whore we died hearing, but the gifts from our parents. Remember us now in this careful...

        Julia Webb is a neurodiverse writer from a working-class background who lives in Norwich. She has three poetry collections with Nine Arches Press: Bird Sisters (2016), Threat (2019) and The Telling (2022).  She is a poetry editor...

      Ice Maiden speaks whale, speaks star breathes in  — tight as a tomb breathes out — splintered crackle snow falls  — a silvery kintsugi fooling no-one she wants to be alone with her ice shroud to think slow thoughts drink from snow’s thickening...

      Anne Askew & Amber Heard Plain speaking a woman of few words, is a gift of God (Sirach 26:14) Rack and stretch her, loosen flesh from bone. A jointed bird will not squawk. Each turn and pull will tighten the denial in her lips. Pop the sockets...

      34 Symptoms of the Menopause   A woman somewhere is typing on the internet             my heart wakes me up like clockwork. Now, another woman –             my whole body feels like a bee box too small for the bees. At 3am, a woman Googles    ...

    By the Horns At breakfast my man sticks a purple magnolia bud in my soft boiled egg. The flower opens, distilling to lilac. On my autumn birthday he wrings the necks of seven swallow-wings to gift me the witch’s butter wobbling like an orange nebula...

      The Lost Light Sometimes I’m surprised there’s light in dark places, those corridors, those alleys where you wouldn’t stray if you didn’t need or here in this prefab house I walk past once a week with the dog—left lost at the end of a lane to go...

      Leadbelt Trends of lead, silver, copper, and zinc vein the middle of Missouri. Precious or base, the DNR holds dominion. For centuries, Missouri lead fed the muzzles of European wars, then American, then world. Across the river, in Alton, where a...

      Kiss me quick Often, we sad creatures for peace of mind, pleasure, possibly, perhaps, travel at speed through swathes of green lawns, tall trees, meadows leafy stuff, to reach something, cold wet and bitter, saline sided by yellow sand, pebbles,...

      Observer Effect V Ephemeral should be the default – Evan Spiegel I said, “This is wrong” and they said, “No, it just is,” and I said, “I understand,” and I did, ishly, “But isness isn’t a valid method of mensuration. Presence, maybe.” “You mean...

      Thirsty Shadow the kind of being that won’t post an image of what they look like but wants you to love them to praise them while they lurk behind a grey thumbnail without features using mantras fierce hot feel the heat just a little sip  ...

      The city asleep Street after street, ears bright to bass and tune of two thudding feet, gradients of breathing. But rain is brooding. Sparse headlights, ambient drone of cars kissing tarmac, merging — but rain twists senses, fractures distance,...