Today’s choice
Previous poems
Amirah Al Wassif
When I Met God for the First Time
The God I know works as a baker in a local shop.
From time to time, I see him feeding the kittens bread crumbs soaked in milk.
He is not as huge as the religious men tell us;
his hand is small, a normal size like all of ours.
He even has a red mole above his left eyebrow,
just like my bank employee’s uncle.
One time, I saw him smoking his pipe while his eyes were tearful.
I asked him in an inaudible voice,
‘What is the matter, O God? Are you alright?’
God exhaled his smoke, creating millions of clouds above my head.
Then he looked directly at me.
At that moment, I cautiously approached him; after all, he is God.
And I heard the meow of a cat under his arm.
I stood in amazement, inhaling the scent of fresh bread
while observing the secret stash of kittens,
watching all these flying cats escaping from under his arm.
Amirah Al Wassif is an award-winning published poet. Her poetry collection, For Those Who Don’t Know Chocolate, was published in February 2019 by Poetic Justice Books & Arts. Additionally, her illustrated children’s book, The Cocoa Boy and Other Stories, was published in February 2020, and her poetry book, How to Bury a Curious Girl, was published by Bedazzled Ink Publishing Company in 2022. Her poems have appeared in several print and online publications, including South Florida Poetry, Birmingham Arts Journal, Hawaii Review, The Meniscus, Chiron Review, The Hunger, Writers Resist, Right Now, Reckoning, New Welsh, Event Magazine, and many others. Amirah’s latest book, The Rules of Blind Obedience, will be released in December 2024.
Paul Stephenson
Rhubarb after Norman MacCaig And another thing: stop looking like embarrassed celery. It doesn’t suit. How can you stand there, glittery in pink, some of you rigid, some all over the shop? Deep down you’re marooned, a sour forest spilling out beneath a harmful canopy....
Holly Winter-Hughes
You stand behind me / catch my eye / take the snatch of silver
Laura McKee
after the accident the plaster
held her still
Melanie Branton
At boarding school, I had no idea what to do
with myself. Most of the time,
I hid myself in a paper bag . . .
Lucy Calder
I arrange my books in order of height,
on a bank of cow parsley,
amid the random oscillations
of a cool breeze
Tanya Joseph
I know others blossom
but I vomit ectoplasm,
and squaring the corners of my bed,
the nurse reminds me I’m not dying.
Lucy Heuschen
It is known: a woman like that
brings evil on board.
Carolyn Oulton
Heat on the window
baking my face like a biscuit.
I move some hair, look over
at moss and narcissi, in a pot –
Jennifer A. McGowan
You have buried your mother and put
a memorial bench on a high hillside where
the wind blows sunsets straight through
and it’s always better to wear something warm.