Today’s choice

Previous poems

Chrissie Gittins

 

 

 

My Brother Teaches Me How To Open And Close A Door

When you’ve used one handle to open the door,
use the other handle to close it.
That way the draft from the open window
won’t whip it closed and wake everyone up.

Even now he still teaches me –
keep your phone safe from thieves,
protect your muscles and bones,
sprinkle ground eggshells around your tomatoes.

His arm is always around my shoulder –
as the garden birds abandon his feeders for insects,
as he searches for a recipe for his plentiful courgettes,
as he lies awake at night making lists and lists and lists.

 

 

Chrissie Gittins‘ collections are Sharp Hills (IDP),  I’’ll Dress One Night as You (Salt) and Armature (Arc). She appeared with her fifth children’s poetry collection on BBC Countryfile. Her second short story collection was shortlisted for the Saboteur Awards. Her work has featured on BBCR4 and the Poetry Archive. She is a Hawthornden Fellow. @ChrissieGittins

Yuanbing Zhang translates Hongri Yuan

      My Heaven is Inside My Body My heaven is inside my body, my heaven is a great many, like stars in the night sky, with silver towers, huge edifices that look like sapphires, golden palaces, gardens of crystal. My body is bigger than the universe,...

Julie Stevens

      Insomnia Night shakes hurt the most. Firm hands strangle the life out of sedate songs. You’re awake breathing the curse of noise, as dark sniggers. The hours clang, trees thump the ground, damp air sharpens knives. Prickly reminders have lodged in...