by Adeline Macdonald Clean steam iron the linen sheets, white and crisp and beautiful and without fault or fold White walls upon white walls with nothing to upset you or hurt you or make you cry or want to leave or want to think Do you love it? Is it…
by Lindsay Flanagan There’s a taint on the air, like electricity that’s nearly burned Through the black pavement that my feet are shuffling along Its black fingers have curled around my throat Even while one keeps stroking the back of my neck But I have…
Scotland By Lindsay Flanagan the frosts are falling around my face and it’s grey outside, as within but still you face the bitter cold standing on the concrete porch because we don’t have wooden here anymore but still you bid me, come in the waters turn clear in my hand…