Today’s choice

Previous poems

Sam Szanto

 

 

 

After a Stillbirth

He had been told the trolley
would be in the corridor at noon.
He could get sandwiches.
It was normally for mothers only

but they’d make an exception.
His wife won’t eat anything.
He has to do something.
He cannot sit and be nothing.

He queues behind
a woman holding a tiny baby,
a woman holding a tiny baby,
a woman holding a tiny baby.

He watches the garrulous juggle,
baby, Diet Coke, sandwich.
They don’t seem to notice him
until he stretches out a hand

for a dry egg and cress.
The server says,
“The trolley is for mothers only.”

 

Sam Szanto is an award-winning, Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net-nominated writer. She has authored two poetry pamphlets (with Hedgehog Press and Dreich) and a short-story collection (with Alien Buddha). She is working on a practice-led PhD. Instagram: samszantowriter

Damen O’Brien

The coastline’s smile is sharp with blackened teeth,
seabird shelters, scarps, cutaways, broken reefs:
the bloody mouth of a boxer who can’t be dropped,
punch drunk with the brain’s purple pounding . . .

Viv Fogel

At the End of the Class
The young woman in a hijab thanked/praised/appreciated me
For all I had shown/ encouraged/ inspired in her
Asked whether I observed/ took part in/ celebrated Rosh Hashanah?

Colin Pink

I used to ‘see’ you when you were alive,
I mean when you weren’t there. I carry you
around like a photo in a wallet.