‘On this fine, hazy day, the eyes are hazel, the tongue long and spackled with a white coating.’
Fiction by Fer Boyd, winner of The Space Crone Prize.
‘The jungle itself presents little threat to us, ground herbage is sparse, large predators are rare.’
Fiction by E. De Zulueta.
‘For a long time, it was shameful to admit you felt anything except bliss.’
Amy Acre and Liz Berry on motherhood.
Messages with the Supplicant
‘On Good Friday, the priest in the livestream video stood inside the darkened sanctuary.’
Fiction by Nicolette Polek.
A Boat Ride to the Confluence of the Two Niles
‘April 2022 marked my first visit to my ancestral homeland in seven years.’
Memoir by Isma’il Kushkush.
‘I won her with my grief first / a mess of steaming entrails, enticing / with its gloss.’
Two poems by Madeleine Stack.
‘The opening day of the tour covered the Iveragh peninsula.’
A story by Noel O’Regan, author of Though the Bodies Fall.
‘They queue up to pass, lap / like waves beside her, to receive the darshan / from her one, black eye.’
Poetry by Phoebe Power.
‘He is an ancestor, he has had his son, he has lost possession of the world.’
Fiction by Allen Bratton.
‘Our imaginations are in service to the wrong ends.’
Olivia Laing and M. John Harrison on the commodification of the imagination.
‘Joy, you know, is murky like melancholy.’
Poetry by Daniel D’Angelo.
‘That the speakers be not named, nor remembered.’
Two poems by Lisa Fishman.
A World of Networks and Vines
‘No one is alone in their bed anymore.’
An excerpt from Sleepless by Marie Darrieussecq, translated by Penny Hueston.