The Tempest by Isobel Dixon

After Sarah Pickstone’s painting The Tempest Don’t we all want a green and pure ferocity, the lashing rain to make us naked to ourselves. Thwarted, aslant against our lives, lean …

Saruk Mohajeran by Mark Waldron

Did you not know it was me, when you knelt down to pick up your glove, that it was me in the bristly touch of the carpet? I’d had a …

Creating the Memory Collage by Alice Notley

Because I was mourning Doug so hard      but push out onto page Alma, or The Dead Women      I couldn’t then react too to 9/11      and I have placed it where …

Drinks with Dead Poets – 25 March 2018

It’s the autumn term: tutoring students in poetry in a mysterious village, Glyn’s world is transformed by the arrival of Keats in a country lane; Emily Dickinson and other poets …

Milk by Emma Jeremy

It was easy not to like him, because of the milk. It bled from every pore of him, thousands of tiny waterfalls of milk. Milk-falls. You would think that he …

The Detectives by Jane Yeh

No matter where we go, it always looks like California. Get in the car and drive. Our invisible friend Comes with us everywhere, like a shadow. He tells us how …

Skylight by Natalie Shapero

YOU DESERVE IT was what she said when I called a cab at 10 p.m. instead of hopping the 89 bus, which lets off six blocks from my place – …

New Magazine and Subscription Pricing

As you’ll probably know by now, we have developed a new design for the magazine to ensure the quality of its content is matched by the all-round attractiveness of its …

The Twilight Sleep II by Alice Tomlinson

We bring them in, bursting with promise, sweet in sherbet-coloured nighties, bright spring flowers picked during a gale. We smooth wild hair and swaddle pretty heads in bales of soft …