the brick arrives through the living room window with the speed of intent glass and shag carpet mix in the moon’s light we awaken, six sets of sleepy doe eyes widen from our permanent camp on the living room floor our mothers race in squawking, braids undone trailing...
Content warning: death or dying The degrees have fallen so low of late, the landscape a video noise. It has become impossible to think. Meanwhile, the children continue to require feeding. They’re playing with the little sunlight left, hoping that tree branches...
Content warning: death or dying All the Souls of the Faithful I kept my head bowed down, not so much out of respect for the dead but as a way to avoid eye contact with the living. My altar boy cassock is slightly yellowed now, handed down year after year until the...
Content warning: death or dying there is a beach not far away where crabs idly pick at the shoreline infant faces etched into their backs scuttling sideways with the tide eyes stare as if drowning through weeds small busy ghosts disinterested in our yearning as we...
Content warning: violence/violent imagery, kidnapping and abduction, child abuse Secret Recipe The trick for good gingerbread is fresh ginger, grated vigorously until your fingers scrape the metal and drops of blood dribble in the dough. The trick for maximum...
Dawn splits crêpe sky, moist mist of air. There is despair here, and also life. We tumble out of the back of a cube van. Bodies, buckets, dented thermoses of chai, rotis wrapped in aluminum foil, stale biscuits for afternoon tea break. We survey the field, pair off,...
Content warning: Violent imagery The obvious thing to say would be Butcher Me but Actually I want to be the only thing left entire. Mark out every other Wednesday for the rest of the year To see your hard dyke hands blurring inside a ribcage. Only some have the right...
Content warning: death or dying When I go out to the bin, it hasn’t been emptied and is full of strangers’ rubbish. Takeaway boxes, greasy paper, naked silver tins. I pull out the top bag, drag it to my neighbour’s kerb, and split it open with the keys in my pocket....
Mother washes our hair with olive soap. She gives each child a fig; we are going on a journey. We roll out onto the landscape like waterways – by the second roll of the dice, we have already split into forked plans the first son to the right, the second to the left,...
Content warning: violence/violent imagery, abuse, death or dying 1. Now The Saints say only the wicked go looking for trouble—but Saints would say that, wouldn’t they? Looking at it, Abigail realises what they say doesn’t matter because now she can see it, all of it,...
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