Today’s choice
Previous poems
Chrissie Gittins
My Brother Teaches Me How To Open And Close A Door
When you’ve used one handle to open the door,
use the other handle to close it.
That way the draft from the open window
won’t whip it closed and wake everyone up.
Even now he still teaches me –
keep your phone safe from thieves,
protect your muscles and bones,
sprinkle ground eggshells around your tomatoes.
His arm is always around my shoulder –
as the garden birds abandon his feeders for insects,
as he searches for a recipe for his plentiful courgettes,
as he lies awake at night making lists and lists and lists.
Chrissie Gittins‘ collections are Sharp Hills (IDP), I’’ll Dress One Night as You (Salt) and Armature (Arc). She appeared with her fifth children’s poetry collection on BBC Countryfile. Her second short story collection was shortlisted for the Saboteur Awards. Her work has featured on BBCR4 and the Poetry Archive. She is a Hawthornden Fellow. @ChrissieGittins
Vic Pickup
Operation Alphaman
It took a great effort and I had to bite hard on the stick
to push the subcostal muscles aside.
The skin had parted easily under my knife,
though keeping the blood at bay with no one to swab the wound
was difficult. This was remedied with a vacuum cleaner
Julian Brasington
When one has lived a long time alone
and not alone your time become
someone’s history and you have grown
tired of yet another war and the world
has it in for you simply for being
Jason Conway
I heard a rumour that Pandora moonlights
She wears sunglasses in the lounge
knives flexed and ready for battle
Rachael Clyne
Torn
On one side– my heritage
on the other side– their heritage
on both sides– carnage
everywhere– endless grief.
Nick Browne
Woman in the water
I’m no Ophelia, that’s for sure crazy stuff is not my style,
no garland weeds around my head it’s spindrift foam not daisies.
Sally Michaelson
The Ledger
In the left hand column
she writes
He’s married
Rizwan Akhtar
In the evening trees become sad
I climbed on them like a metaphor
Alexandra Corrin
Six weeks after diagnosis
I stayed away out of respect for your daughters.
You followed the hearse with your father and the girls.
He couldn’t stay within the boundaries of himself.
John Barron
Thought Experiment
The clock has lost all its numbers.
I wake inside an Einstein thought experiment,
where my bones defy gravity and get sucked
what some call “up.” I’ve only time to grab
from beside the bed where we’re sleeping
our copy of Rovelli’s ‘Reality Is Not What It Seems’