Today’s choice
Previous poems
Khairina Anindya, Genevieve Beech
Khair
At the feet
of al-Ka‘ba
you asked for a daughter.
You named me
Khair – Blessing.
I answered
inside you
forcing myself into your ribs
remaking you
in the emptiness of your lungs.
in the space he made—
his shoes
left in the doorway
your words—
not at the tip of your tongue
but caught at your teeth.
imprinting your face and his
I carry you
under my tongue.
Khairina Anindya is an engineer from Indonesia, currently based in the Netherlands. She writes poetry shaped by culture and memory. She enjoys reading across different literary traditions.
BIRTHLIGHT
You are ordinary
to the teenager on the bus,
the doctor at our six-week check.
Everywhere, mothers birth
their own gold-spun miracles
with features much like yours.
But I felt you move,
little wish, inside
my body, inside its mist.
I knew you first as fable,
a not-yet thing darting under skin,
a lantern held in the halfway.
Before I siphoned your light
outside me, and you flickered,
soared, and the world was changed.
Genevieve Beech is the creator of Motherlore Magazine on care, matrescence and ecology. Motherlore can be found in the Women’s Art Library, Goldsmiths, and featured in ‘M(other)ing’ 2025 at Virginia Tech Perspective Gallery. Genevieve enjoys the many veins of bookmaking.
Jennie E. Owen
and in that last moment
the dead shrug, shake
off their boots, shuffle off
jackets and shirts,
Martin Figura for Mental Health Awareness Week
Children in care do not have much of a voice, they often accept whatever is given and do not dare to speak up.
Julie Stevens for Mental Health Awareness Week
Are these the words you want me to say
about how my day became a raging river
crashing through my bones?
Fianna Russell Dodwell for Mental Health Awareness Week
I’ll tell you a bedtime story . . .
William Manning for Mental Health Awareness Week
My room is infested with bedbugs
I’m covered in bites, not love bites
Anna Brook
I want to borrow gods
(as Adrienne does,
though she knew better)
their sad logic
their templates
Nigel King
Turn the mud. Bo Peep’s head tumbles out,
wide-eyed, mouth a little open.
Mohsen Hosseinkhani translated by Tahereh Forsat Safai
Men are the color of soil
Women are sitting on the ashes
Stephen Komarnyckyj
you are the shadow slipping through the mirror
