When did writing
become such a warm meeting place?
Tag: literature
ONE POEM – Krysia Wazny McClain
Akademicheskaya Metro Station Sixty-four meters underground: vaulted ceilings whiter than eggshells, chrome shinier than any American diner. Pride of Lenin, who, mummified, did not see it open but extolled its nominal achievement by plaque five meters tall. On the escalator, my hand in a grey fingerless glove finds yours. A second couple kiss…
ONE POEM – Ottavia Silvestri
bathroom bucolic a pupil, dollop of toothpaste pink blue yellow cotton balls in the static light a gracious not swarming not fermenting pale May Ottavia Silvestri is a political science student that lives in Milan, Italy. In her free time she studies Mandarin and volunteers in a tiny cat shelter (hi Melinda, you’re my favourite…
COMFORT FOODS // Courgette — Yas Necati
In the Turkish supermarket, you search through baby peaches and it makes me feel closer to you.
ONE POEM – Lorraine Carey
Slathered in a vernix coat,
you slithered out to my relief
with ten toes and two perfect hands
bunched into tiny fists.
ONE POEM – Hideko Sueoka
Carnivorous Butterwort A pale-purple tint – a sort of violet of little petals attracting flies, ants in fresh beeches shading the zigzag trail with glossy moss. The floral colour implies saintly piety to God or deities at which an insect could quail in the East. Ecru moths cruise and scurry. Near Acheron just a halt….
ONE POEM – Juliette Sebock
I wonder what will happen
if I make it
to twenty-five.
ONE POEM – Elden Morrow
It is June and the foxgloves are in bloom.
In two days it shall be my birthday.
ONE POEM – Louise McStravick
Make the water rearrange its insides,
shift shape as it is told,
steam rise
drip drip vinegar,
sour the water to not let things stick.
COMFORT FOODS // My Mother’s Sweet Halwa — Sheena Hussain
The pots and pans of childhood stir me.
COMFORT FOODS // While You’re Still Here – Yasmine Jessy Amr
You scribble on a piece of paper, pausing every two minutes to remember. Your memory isn’t what it used to be. But you try anyway.
ONE POEM – Ogedengbe Tolulope
We sing the songs filled with sadness,
Songs with lyrics written in silence
Porridge 