Today’s choice
Previous poems
Marnie Cockrill
Clerking notes
So, what has brought you in today Mrs…?
Owens. Mrs Owens.
Ahh, nice to meet you Mrs Owens. What brings you in today?
Worry mostly, I worry, I’m a worrier. But I’m particularly worried about this.
Worry not, Mrs Owens. Is your worry irrational or rational, do you believe?
Well, I don’t know, irrational, I hope. But it is just so constant…
Supposing it is constant, how would you characterise it? When did it start?
It started a few days ago, it came with this grumbling pain, I don’t know why…
I know it’s frightening, I’m sorry. The worry, anything makes it better or worse?
Well, I’ve been taking some paracetamol. That helps a little, but the nights are the worst.
What do you worry about at night? Has anything like this happened before?
Yes, for many years now on and off but it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.
If it has been ignored before, why can’t it be ignored now? What is different?
I don’t know, Doc. It’s just frighteningly painful and I can’t get it to stop. I did wonder…
I fear we must stop getting side tracked. What is your specific concern?
Well, I wondered if perhaps something had ruptured or burst. Might I be bleeding inside?
Now, now Mrs Owens. If that were the case, I’m sure you would be in significant pain.
Wouldn’t you agree that this pain is not what is significant to you, Mrs Owens?
Marnie Cockrill is a poet and artist from north Wales, studying medicine at Exeter. This professional pursuit, combined with her delight in the natural world and fascination with human relationships informs much of her writing.
Anna Bowles
Akademichna Street
is bombed-out flats, is
the hot-pink Sweet Bakery Café, is
straggly new-planted trees, is
Philip Athans
Never shows up late to a single thing he’s invited to
Always brings the most thoughtful and carefully curated and perfect gift
Never shows up early and never once overstays his welcome
Always appears well groomed and clean and appropriately dressed
Michelle Diaz
This is just a woman,
sticking her life back together
after years spent recovering.
Autumn Richardson
What you are –
bodied light, a store of oil
a hive of warm blood
Rebecca Parfitt
In the back of the taxi on my way to the hospital,
thighs clenched together,
the driver asked me,
Samarth Agarwal
Here — in the absolute zero of space — fireworks!
Look how the crucibles of creation,
those million coloured fingers that stretch light years —
Jenny Scoones
We unlearn how it felt to touch
And resume our separate days in shirts and trousers,
Like hazmats against the sun and its longing,
The moon with its underbelly pulls.
Matt Bryden
Now a blanket is spread, offerings
of chutney and shin bones,
a taper held to the fire
that heats the tar beneath our boats.
Kit Duke
I didn’t know then,
moving for a mouth
that refused to yield an inch,
what it wasn’t.