Today’s choice

Previous poems

Abegail Morley

 

 

 

Houseplant daughter
(Non-melancholic depression)
Tonight, my houseplant child asks about sunlight,
brushes my arm as she stutters on the word,
photosynthesis, raises her eyes to the bulb as if to say,
Will that do? I keep the curtains shut all day now.
Everything in the room is artificial: light, tree,
At noon my houseplant daughter converts
carbon dioxide into sugar, and I carry on telling her
about things artificial, colour, I say,
and mime stirring a cake, and hearts,
they can be artificial too. Houseplant daughter
looks sad. So, she says, hearts aren’t real?
They are, I say, but sometimes flowers aren’t.
Houseplant daughter gasps, tugs my sleeve, eyes wet:
she’s spent three whole months waiting to bloom.
I Google life without light, learn all life needs energy.
I can hardly get out of bed. Houseplant asks for water.

 

 

Abegail Morley‘s debut collection was shortlisted for the Forward Prize. Her most recent collections are published by the wonderful Nine Arches Press.

Oenone Thomas

Because I don’t know any other way

I replace my left hand
with a hook, my feet
with jackhammers, both
my eyes with spangled
mirror balls.

Adele Evershed

Some Things My Mother Forgot to Teach Me (Before She Died)

A while ago I saw this prompt on Instagram
though I added ‘before she died’
because mine did—long before
anyway, I made a list

Chris Hardy

      Memento Vivere We lived here once. The rain we heard fell everywhere. Silence except the wind across the ground. It’s best to keep quiet. Words are like dead seeds, they vanish when they’re said.   *   New Year’s Eve without stars or...

Siobhan Logan

There’s something wrong with the sky

it’s the colour of a bruise and smells
of burnt toast. Do you hear that noise?
Someone’s shredding the blue