Today’s choice

Previous poems

Britta Giersche

 

 

 

3am

a wooden door slams shut in my brain

a man perishes in a space the size of his grave from malnutrition eighty years ago

(I travel on my mother’s electric waves that held their spoken words’ shape)

I am sorry that the thud left a hole in your dream like a lost stitch in a schoolgirl’s needlework

the drumming of car tyres forms a mirror-like sound on the asphalt road

a beam of light casts a languorous glance over our bodies

for six seconds

(the length of a yawn)

I catch the warm updraft, rising from your breathing

 

Britta Giersche is German. She lives in London and is writing her first book of poetry.

Jemma Walsh

    Siberian Larkspur     Jemma Walsh is an Irish poet based in London. She is currently doing an MA in Creative and Life Writing at Goldsmiths College. Her work has been published in The Irish Times, Moth Magazine, HOWL Magazine, Crossways...

Rebecca Gethin

I won’t forget her on the beach – fur the colours of sand.
We wouldn’t have spotted her were it not for the jiggle

of her gait, the turn of her head with ears pricked,
the spine’s taut bow and torque of her hocks.

Sue Proffitt

You stopped the car in the lane just before our driveway.

I didn’t ask why. Chestnut trees leaned in on either side,

the damp air breathed. You sat there, looking straight ahead

and said there’s nothing worse than being queer.

Finlay Worrallo

one for hurting / for loveless / for rinsing yourself off afterwards
and meeting your eye in the bathroom mirror and saying firmly
you have not made a mistake / for a mistake