Bay Laurel
My last will and testament is to be buried
under the bay tree flourishing in my back garden.
Standing there, year after year, like a planted woman
taken from again and again.
One day, her leaves will no longer replenish.
But for now she stands strong and flavours
my food with a touch of the gods.
I pick a handful of leaves from the bay tree,
wash them under the cold water tap, these green
shields, heraldic symbols. When families
of the future take over the reins of these rooms,
look out from this kitchen window, savour
the bay laurel and take from her again and again;
they will remember me though they don’t
know my name, I will be with them
in the aftertaste of their evening meals.
Marion McCready lives in Argyll. Her poems have been published in many journals, magazines and anthologies including: Poetry (Chicago), The Manhattan Review and Poetry Ireland Review. Her most recent collection, Look to the Crocus, was published by Shoestring Press (2023).
Allocentric Genders
The arc of the branch is but a curve of the body where the twilight casts a golden light within a
thousand shards
of skins
the storm will come and it will batter your thorax. You shouldn’t trust the roots—they pray with the
earth
the ground is unfaithful, loosens its grip and so comes the failure and the
rapture
look at your branches. They twist into talons and grasp at something, anything. Gaping mouths of
peeling bark to the wind. Gulp and your arms break and heal again, wronger
Your trunk bends
Hebridean trees follow the gusts like black flames studding the peatlands in Winter. Burn with rage,
take shape,
you blood-wood saplings as old as time
Vic Brooks is a nonbinary boy poet & novelist, and also parent to small identical twins. They are currently working on their second novel, and their debut poetry collection for t’ART Press. They can be found on Instagram @vics_double_trouble or www.vicbrooks.net.