Remember
By Hugh Fox
“Remember me,” I tell her (4), starting to give her/open up all my albums going back to just-born through grammar and all other schools, Avignon (2 years) and Madrid (3), her mother and aunts and uncles, copies of my poetry books, a print-out bibliography, DVD’s and way-back tapes of my readings and talks, my piano music played on the Steinway over in the Hart Hall at the university, the whole area around her and her little frog-legs filling up.
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No Room to Care
By Dorothy Fryd
The mother in law was coming to stay, which meant there’d be a hole in time. It meant there’d be no room to paint water-colour eyelids or write the plumes of Pompeii dust clouds. There’d be no room to climb stratospheres or wonder at the oscillations between adolescence and manhood. It meant punctuating her monologue with sighs, trying to slip into anecdotes of the odysseys of Icarus and Ithaca.
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The Mother/Son Synapse
By Kyle Hemmings
Driving mother home after the second stroke, past the oaks and hawthorns that lie about their age as if age is ever true, I listen as she talks in fragments, or things that can never be melded except with dream and super glue.
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The Beginning
By Rachael Z Ikins
Earth has held Her breath so many dark months. Her chest aches with this inhalation. Her ribs’ framework tents the snow. Shrinks like a wicked witch. You can hear melt, long sigh’s gurgle– escaping winter.
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IIIIII
By Gabriella Jönsson
On the big stage, finally, with the castle sloping behind us in the rain: we were the audience, and she up there alone just guitar and voice – the tiniest thing – queen of a thousand eyes: whispering Regina.
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A Man’s Fated Garden
By Ron Koppelberger
The bond of perfect happenstance expressed the result of wisdom in degrees of chance. He amended his spirit, the core of his soul with the temperance of everlasting whiskey tumblers and vodka vision. A sober regard for the drink in respite of an eternal drunk.
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The Coolest Science Teacher
By Mark Russell
I forget the topic. Let us say it was fire. Fire and water – though I realise no such topic exists. There, on the front bench, was a fish tank three-quarters full of water. Through it, we could see the blackboard swim. Its formulae swirled and made more chalky sense than before.
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norwich spring
By Emilie Vince
the pinks and whites i bless them; they bless us, strolling hand in hand between cherry trees with the scent of cream emulsion thick in the air, and japanned pink.
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