Those are some peoples’ stories, some peoples’ histories, but they aren’t ours.
Tag: writing
ONE POEM – Iona May
When did writing
become such a warm meeting place?
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 – Sarah Degner Riveros
Mama hugs
her son. Can we get
horchata? No. Not today.
It’s Tuesday. Treinta tacos?
De asada? Para llevar.
The wait’s worth it.
COMFORT FOODS // Cutlets – V.M. Braganza
Cutlets (also called potato chops), much like my family and their language, resist any attempt at tidy or singular classification.
You die if you worry – Robert Scott
You die if you worry, die if you don’t. I laughed the first time he said it. I hadn’t heard it before.
ONE POEM – Elden Morrow
It is June and the foxgloves are in bloom.
In two days it shall be my birthday.
TWO POEMS – Elizabeth Stott
We made the heads of Styrofoam
so not to be too heavy on their frail necks.
Hearts? Simply-fashioned, from lumps of stone.
ONE POEM – Katherine Fallon
Finding them dead on returning from vacation,
she flushed her six African Cichlids.
ONE POEM – Jonathan Chadwick
The last three nights, I dreamt I was a sail
Lifted, swept and thumped from here to there.
ONE POEM – Elizabeth Wilson Davies
The unconsidered diaries of family life fall open at once favourite recipes,
bittersweet imprints on the page of stained, smeared, sticky memories.
Smälting Pot – Elinor Potts
Bellies lined with pyttipanna, we refill our water bottles and stride home from the city centre towards Block 5.
