Rain upon me your turbulent tales of locker-side loves,
the gossip of girls whose braces still encase their molars
Tag: Creative Writing
COMFORT FOODS // Gulyás – Liam Skillen
I look at a photo of my Hungarian grandfather and his compatriots in Carr Bank Park, posing by the flowerbeds on Woodhouse Road, and know it is possible to belong to more than a single place.
ONE POEM – Erin Vance
Just as Hemlock
digs its graves in the
carrot family plot
ONE POEM – Alex Stolis
because there’s no way he would ever find it,
being interested only in dinner/work/breakfast
/work/sex on demand/sleep/work.
COMFORT FOODS // Overheard at Terasa Obor – Ana Prundaru
the problem with mici is
they’re all so good
that they don’t even ask you
what you’re ordering
ONE POEM – Elizabeth Seven
So next time you feel so anxious that you can hardly unlock the door,
remember that the world holds your feet
TWO POEMS – KG Newman
First day of the World Series,
autumn hanging on, each tree
seeing who can keep from
being a skeleton the longest
COMFORT FOODS // Bombay Toast – Samarth Agarwal
I see you standing there – starch white lungi draped
7AM freshly shaved – wooden spoon in hand
Commanding your caramelising populace.
ONE POEM – Emilie Delcourt
one bright red strawberry on the strawberry plant
mist still low, tangled in the branches of olive trees
the way the pomegranates hang low
with the burden of their own weight
FICTION | Salvage – Ian C Smith
Faces are remembered, words spoken; that brief encounter at the fair, the smell of old sunlight a slow night train.
COMFORT FOODS // Ends and Pieces – Lisa Ochoa
You’ve probably never noticed them. Their red and white box usually sits well below their thick-cut, smoked, and maple-flavored cousins in their clear ‘look at me!’ packaging. Or, sometimes, Ends and Pieces aren’t displayed at all, and you have to ask the butcher for them. Because mind you, they are the ends and pieces, the leftovers, the scraps. Who would want them?
My mom, that’s who.
FICTION | Light of The World – Sue Beardon
How she longs for the asteroid to come, to show them how little they controlled anything.
Porridge 