his Superkings fan over
a firm hand grip in sunburst
gilding the bonfire
cherry red
Category: 21st century
ONE POEM – Mel McMahon
As if by sticking up taut yellow tape
They could control the space
Like some kind of boxing match
Where a ring-side bell
Could take a firm grip of time
THREE POEMS – Liv Aldridge
The tingle of feet in an ice
cold bed is finally enough to get me out
at dusk, all shabby chic
ONE POEM – S.M. Tsai
White fabric sagging
Exposed lipsticked mouth
Small exposed mouth screaming
Exposed mouth with nose ring
TWO POEMS – Rachel Bruce
Gravity balances on my shoulders,
tosses back the balls while I wait
for their sandy pop in my palms.
I get lighter by the day.
TWO POEMS – Salvatore Difalco
You reached for the branch
without looking at me as I
signalled you to back away,
to veer away from the tree,
where a snake in full makeup
had hit its mark, awaiting a cue.
Where Have All the People Gone? Lessons from Russia’s Longest War – Roman Cherevko
Introduction February 2014. Just as Russia was invading and annexing Crimea, the world was watching another case of Putin showing off, also in the Black Sea region: the Winter Olympics in Sochi. So far the most expensive Games on the record, they were meant to demonstrate Russia’s opulence and grandeur, and, of course, to highlight…
Love in the Age of Instant Mashed Potatoes – Anne-Laure White
The first potatoes I loved were the dehydrated shreds sold in cereal box-style cartons at Key Foods. My mother gave them some delicacy, stirring in milk, butter, salt. On holidays her mashed potatoes were perfect, and doted on accordingly. They were adjusted hourly for flavour and texture, refrigerated overnight, and reheated slowly on the day….
FLASH FICTION — Beth Morrow
We’re hit with a waft of espresso. The thunder of grinding coffee beans. The high-pitched hiss of steamed milk. Our wish is granted.
Bessarabian Days – William Fleeson
A Chisinau bus will teach you the city. The Moldovan capital’s network of these vehicles, and its trolleybuses and marshrutkas – the decrepit minivans, unchanged since Soviet days – could take you anywhere, for nearly nothing. Mostly you paid in physical stress. Riders crammed into spaces meant for people half their size; young mothers loaded…
TWO POEMS – Jim Lloyd
Peregrine has put them up;
one, against one thousand. They
need eyes in the back of their head.
His eyes, forwards only, burning
on the brown-gold and white
pulsating flock.
ONE POEM – Clare Starling
And here I am, unsure of my value
Crushing myself through the doors
Ice and dirt crumbling from me
Leaving meltwater on the mat
Porridge 