‘The Closing Hour’ by Carl Phillips

             There are pleasures so ordinary that we barely notice them. They leave no impression worth mentioning, even. Notthe leaves but the delicate under-leaves that we’d             somehow missed. Not the stranger whom …

Editorial by Dai George

For some reason, I’ve been thinking lately about an ornament in my childhood home. It looks like a flower trapped inside a star, with eight orange and blue petals intersecting …