Today’s choice

Previous poems

Julie Sheridan

 

 

 

Love Birds
Agapornis

They married in a chapel of black steel
bars, tethered up their feathers to serve as
stained glass. One year in and their chirrups are still
hymeneal. Humans can’t help but pass
by and beam at this pair, bonded for life.
All day long they practice their craft, the dry
squelching sound of vows, the wings of the wife
splaying to blue as if to an actual sky.
Look, they’re at it again. He heaves up seed
to feed her, to prove his paternal credentials,
she swallows and hatches the clutch. What need
isn’t met in this cage, in this unfledged embrace?
All day long that muffling sound, the heel
of a hand kneading the palm of another.

 

 

Julie Sheridan lives in Barcelona. Her work has appeared in journals including Poetry Ireland Review, Mslexia, Poetry Scotland, Dream Catcher, The Ekphrastic Review and Anthropocene. She was shortlisted for the Bridport Prize in both 2023 and 2024.

Chrissy Banks

. . . Yes, I’ve tasted pomegranates
and I know what they do. The sense of vertigo:
happily dizzy at first, as if you’ve downed
a bottle of Shiraz or Merlot. You live by night . . .

Karen Luke

My sister’s father wound is the flush cut
on the bark where she lost her foothold
and fell,
the trunk burning red between her thighs
all the way down the tree to the ground…