FEAST By Rosie Arcane

My wounds have more flavour with a little bit of salt. And my trauma is so much better when it’s fresher. Have a taste of my tears, my sweet syrupy fears. Or the crunch of anxious bones, the meaty toughness of being alone. Then gulp it all down with my rusty blood,...

KIRSTEN EXPECTS By Yvonne Birch

I must choose. It will focus me. Today, the choosing will be in the style of Grace Kelly. I run a hand along the sleeves hanging in my walk-in closet and take out the orange, princess-line maternity coat. A colour analyst recently told me that I was a ‘summer’ and...

THE TREE IS STILL THERE by Sam Hendrian

The tree is still there, The person is not, Only echoes and ghosts Maybes and almosts.   I can hike the way we did, Even talk about the same things But I’d only be talking to myself.   The words are still there, The sentences are not, Revised and rearranged Turned...

DAYDREAMERS ANONYMOUS by Nikki Davison

The idea of killing my wife appeared in a daydream, though the daydream wasn’t my own — it belonged to Martha Clitheroe. A mouse of a woman, Martha, sat on the opposite side of the therapy circle, though it was impossible to make eye contact. Hunched shoulders,...