Sipping on our black coffee, my grandad and I sit together in his living room every morning. We drift between comfortable silence, where I return to my book, he returns to his paper, and short bursts of conversation. A new restaurant is opening in town, he says. I called the bank earlier, I say. What time do you start work, he asks. Yes, I will remember my umbrella, I respond.
Category: literature
Book Review: House of Day, House of Night by Olga Tokarczuk, translated by Antonia Lloyd-Jones – Arbnora Selmani
“We are prompted to savour each word, carefully probing between our teeth to discover new morsels of meaning.”
POETRY IN TRANSLATION – Bartosz Konstrat, tr. Dawid Mobolaji
But from time to time it does exist. Something like a stray lash under the eyelid
trying to catch its last breath.
TWO POEMS – Catherine Redford
The air is suddenly sweet-smoked and humming,
and I’m back in the incense-wreathed
Lanes of 90s Brighton
TWO POEMS – Billie Manning
The plane goes to the gym every morning
before work and holds that plank.
ONE POEM – Mark Saunders
his Superkings fan over
a firm hand grip in sunburst
gilding the bonfire
cherry red
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
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.
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.
Wood for The Trees — Joanna Garbutt
There is something in her hands. Something in a large Pyrex dish. It is hot, very hot. She nearly drops it on the floor but instead the kitchen work top catches it. The dish itself doesn’t smash. It isn’t a big enough drop for that. She looks down at it, trying to work out what it is.
Porridge 