Tag: Banshee

  • “The First Casualty of the Summer” and other poems by Emily S. Cooper

    “The First Casualty of the Summer” and other poems by Emily S. Cooper

      The First Casualty of the Summer Can a dropped ice cream be a joyful sight? A slight of thought, akin to road kill: a dead badger is still a badger that was once alive. Can a spark of juvenile pride (the curl tightly looped to touch the forehead of the whipped pile) be saved…

  • “They say we made it up” and other poems by Wes Lee

    Lifesaving They don’t do it anymore, breathe into the mouth to save. We had learnt it reluctantly, lined up beside a recumbent dummy, waiting to take our turn to kneel at that mouth. The simplest things disturb – at night when the fluoros shut off and the cover is pulled, the tiles swabbed – there…

  • “A Gradual Eden” and other poems by Audrey Molloy

    A Gradual Eden After the lava had cooled, hardened like a carapace over the fresh-earth graves of our marriages, nothing happened for a while. Sure, you and I still talked all night, once dared to walk arm-in-arm like a real couple to the Vietnamese restaurant with the string-bead curtain and napkins folded into swans. I…

  • ‘Aleph to Taf’ and other poems by Emma McKervey

    ‘Aleph to Taf’ and other poems by Emma McKervey

    Aleph to Taf The magpie uses a rudder to steer by. I watch the long feathers of its tail turn according to its needs. The women here swear they see them singly for weeks before a death, but that is only said after the fact and I know you can see as many as you…

  • ‘Grazing’ and other poems by Deirdre Daly

    ‘Grazing’ and other poems by Deirdre Daly

    Indian Summer   All neon invitations are ignored. No souls pass the threshold to buy a happy ring or waste an afternoon at shrill slot machines. We are left to ponder the question of our time – Why go Bald? A shop window implores me to buy a white latex nurse’s uniform and cap. Never…

  • “Detail” and other poems by Rachel Coventry

    Detail The world is full stretched, and sick with possibility. You find yourself in a gallery ill with heat and standing. Waiting for some man to play his ridiculous hand. So bored of art, but then forced into wakefulness by the feet of Diego Velazquez’ Cristo Crucificado. All suffering now upon you and you bear…