I wailed a welcome - baring ribs between my teeth. Adam’s. Before I crumpled, converted to sheets left in the cold to dry, dresses hung above steamy showers, creases pushing themselves away with nervous hands. I learned quiet. I learned how swiftly fire burns, not when played with but when held unflinchingly close to your … Continue reading A definition of womanhood
after Emily Perkovich Between these pages you will find the witnesses to the ink staining the soft side of our palms. Our truth gleaming in mottled gold, rivulets of alloy for every heart we have broken, most often our own. We are bruised - too honest for your own good. Hiding in plain sight; taking … Continue reading The Poet as an Open Book
after Laura Gilpin I am the two-headed calf; the beast with a burden. Scars and scabs I cannot peel or wear as smiles or storylines. I am hideously on show - all this human - put me in a museum and watch my breath fog up the glass; the alarms will balk at my audacity … Continue reading Dripping in formaldehyde
after Traci Brimhall Begin beneath a cold moon, wish upon a star and hope it is not a cloudy night. Begin with a quiet kiss, against glass or the back of your hand, taste yourself: learn you are more, than sugar, than spice, than all things nice. Begin with a tiny bird in winter, squeeze … Continue reading How to write a love poem
This review was first published on Reedsy Discovery. Taking on a text which has been translated again and again for centuries is no mean feat; especially when walking in the footsteps of a scholar like Tolkein. But, Carnabuci’s translation, I believe, successfully bridges the gap between early, Latinised translations of Beowulf and Heaney’s somewhat prosaic … Continue reading Review of Beowulf: A Verse Translation, Andrew Carnabuci
the hard labor of joy cut glass rotting peach promises and pills — everything which is hard to swallow and much harder to believe in. but when the stars are no longer enveloped in mist, it tastes of sleep, of you, of tomorrow and of vast fields stretching from their giant’s slumber; my heart no … Continue reading What hope tastes like:
Stretch me thin, love, turn each letter of my name into dough and pull. Tug and kneed. Cut me into quarters and roll me senseless in your warm palms. Give me time to rise; to imagine this is the part where you stay rather than leave. Abandon me to hot air and stuffy corners. Name … Continue reading How to cut a second chance
after John McCullough I find comfort in the ground, stalwart earth beneath a body I dream of as lifeless; surrounded by the hands of everyone who knows sadness deeper than the wells it purports to dwell in - who have known an ache without a name, but a face, identical to their own. I find … Continue reading I find comfort in falling
after Nayna Minda I remember our little kitchen above the pub. The tiny window of light, a small set of table and chairs and orange tablemats. I always imagine it in the afterschool golden hour between five and six on a summer eve. And you cut an apple for me. Slice the knife through and … Continue reading Cut apples
Reading Expulsion by Perkovich was like uncovering a time capsule, of a person, time and place, I never knew I had buried so deep in the sand. From beginning to end, Perkovich’s imagery is sustained and vivid and her words pull you from yourself and ask you to sit at a table with your ghosts. … Continue reading Review of Expulsion, Emily Perkovich
