Today’s choice
Previous poems
Samantha Carr
The Girl with Goldfish Under Her Skin
She has few secrets with her translucent map skin of blue underground rivers visible to scale. Contours of overlapping knots oblivious to each other and to you – mesmerised by the girl with goldfish under her skin. Perhaps, you reflect, we all have goldfish, but we’ve never thought of looking for them. You make a mental note to check when you get home. But you will forget. Is it her glassiness that makes you dream of putting her in a tank the next time she comes for a consultation? You’re unable to pay attention to her list of symptoms – you’re back in anatomy class with that professor who insisted on failing you. If he’d produced a diagram of her, you’d have been a surgeon for sure! You wait for the flash of a golden tail – hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath. What do raised antinuclear antibodies mean? Her voice penetrates your consciousness as the glow fades into depths hidden by dense lumpy organs. Oh, those lucky organs. You reassure her with a voice you don’t recognise – Low titre ANA is commonly seen in the healthy population. You rush her out of the room and hope she doesn’t return.
Samantha Carr is a PhD Creative Writing candidate at the University of Plymouth exploring chronic illness through prose poetry. Her work has been published in Acumen, Arc, Corporeal, Consilience and The Storms Journal. She can be found on Threads and Instagram as @samc4_rr
On the seventh day of Christmas, we bring you Sue Burge, Erica Hesketh and Max Wallis
Once there was nothing sweeter than snow
On the sixth day of Christmas, we bring you Amy Rafferty, Tim Kiely and D.A.Prince
We pick up where you left off, searching still,
choosing random cards from a dealer’s deck:
twenty-one crows in a night-time tree,
deep within the dark, with all that chatter
On the fifth day of Christmas, we bring you Paul McGrane, Kevin Reid and Helen Evans
As regular as Santa Claus, she’d call
around at Christmas, the next-door neighbour
and my Sunday school teacher, Mrs Williams.
On the fourth day of Christmas, we bring you Leusa Lloyd, Lydia Benson and Charlotte Johnson
It is always Christmas in the loft
On the third day of Christmas, we bring you K. S. Moore, Kate Noakes and Rachael Smart
Picture this:
little witch girl
in Alaskan wilderness.
On the second day of Christmas, we bring you Gill McEvoy, Rachel Burns and Cindy Botha
On the way to the registry office it snows, flecks of white like spittle hitting the steamed-up bus windows, I worry the petals from my wedding posy.
On the first day of Christmas, we bring you Hannah Linden, John White and Stephen Keeler
. . . Now the villages is
en fête: dressed for a party in the dark,
across the fields, along uneven paths . . .
Anna Chorlton
She curled emerald
tights about the core of
an oak
slumbering with thick bare
limbs.
John Greening
On Stage in a home-made model theatre, c.1967 Glued to your block, in paint and ink you wait for Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life to stop. Smell of hardboard and hot bakelite. The lino curtain’s ready to go up. At which, the straightened coat hanger is shoved and on you...