New Year

I start the day early with a cup of tea.
A new diary asks I make an affirmation,
while cleaning my teeth.
I have nothing to offer –

Where did this despair come from?
Yesterday I took my son to Casualty,
for an X-ray on his fractured ankle,
& today I read a poem about the world,

deep broken fractured –
If I was clever enough
I’d turn my son’s fall, a scream
falling from the flagpole, into a metaphor.

I didn’t witness the fall.
Not being there –
The family gathering I couldn’t face
& now this new year.

The fracture clinic calls with an appointment
& my son’s new moon boot
sits & stares at me disapprovingly
from the dark recess of the porch.

Rachel Burns lives in County Durham. She came second in the Disabled Poets Prize 2024 and won the Bylines Sky Hawkins Poetry Competition 2025. Rachel’s first collection is scheduled for publication in 2026 by Broken Sleep Books.

Holding Forgiveness

I held Forgiveness in its infancy:
it grizzled and cried and I couldn’t
get it to settle until I sung softly lullaby
after lullaby. It needed soothing, a gentle
cradle, a safe haven to close its eyes
and rest.

I held Forgiveness all night into the dawn,
until morning tweets took over my tune.
Forgiveness awoke, giggling and gurgling
with a sappy smile until I tried to put her down.

I held Forgiveness for most of the day:
I made space in my arms, let her rest
on my hip. She laid her head over my heart
and listened to its dependable beat –

and I’ll hold Forgiveness into tomorrow
if that is what she needs.

Lauren Middleton (she/her) is a deaf Creative Writing PhD student at Aberystwyth University, Wales. Her research focuses on poetry and mental health. Her most recent poetry publication can be found in Obsessed with Pipework.

Solstice Sonnet

Tired I grew of waiting for the sun
To rise, so I grew a sun of my own.
Weary years passed until my work was done,
And seed bore fruit. I laboured not alone,
For friends there were, who showed me secret ways
To the reagents of my alchemy;
So crept on furtive nights and anxious days
Past the archons of solar majesty,
Who’d lock up every star – as if they could!
Another spark is lit with each lament.
My sun doesn’t burn as I hoped it would,
Not yet – but already there are moments
In the unguarded mirror of my eyes,
When a glimmer gold in the distance lies.

Hedy Hume is a writer of poetry and fiction who haunts the Irish Sea’s stony shores. Her work has been featured in such publications as Inkandescent Press’ MAINSTREAM and Broken Sleep Books’ Metamorphosis. On Instagram they call her @hedy_the_ghost.