The party is winding down and it’s time to make your exit. You stand in the living room mentally preparing for the torrent of goodbyes you’re now socially obligated to initiate. It is Christmas Eve.
ONE POEM — Diane Fahey
a frieze of lacemakers
intricately at work
beneath the bay’s
array of scintilla –
ONE POEM — Joseph Eastell
half six stampedes into our room
where we stretch across the kingsize,
urban sprawl nibbling at the greenbelt.
ONE POEM — Florence Campbell-Gray
My name is June; you have to say it like ‘sex’
like it’s a pink toaster
COMFORT FOODS // Reheating Leftovers – Bojana Stojcic
Reheating Leftovers And there you wereletting the world know you’d betemporarily unavailableagainthinking, All I can do now iswait for the clocks to tickhalf past six because thenthe door is opened andstays open untilthe blood has been takenout of the bodiesgiven a brief stirput back in or your hate of the present brings you to the…
Right There — Lily Blacksell
‘Your place or mine?’ he typed, adding then deleting a winky face and pressing send.
‘Neither,’ she replied very quickly, adding ‘obviously.’
ONE POEM – Ross Thompson
Beneath the light of a bashful demilune,
the water appears quite black, like blood on snow.
ONE POEM — Jonah Corren
The goats have come down
from the hills today.
ONE POEM – Jenny Wong
fillets are thawing
for their pan-fried debut.
ONE POEM – Sally Michaelson
giddy with the scent
we pipette the peppermint
into the mixture
COMFORT FOODS // Sour moon – Ieva Grigelionyte
The first important thing in making fermented cabbage is to choose a good cabbage head.
ONE POEM – Emma Wells
a cheeping beak breaks forth
scenting balmy air:
swirls of hyacinths waft
in warm, hour-less days –