Harvest
the best tomatoes grow close to the dirt. their cunning makes them sweeter, ripening in hiding like any masterpiece awaiting an end to incubation: dew-drops in shades of ruby glittering, garnet, sanguine beads slowly seeping, secretly, from spined vines and hives, from stems and suckers, tric
The Isis interviews Rebecca Black
“When you involve kids they will inevitably be exploited, because children can’t consent to anything in terms of working hours or signing contracts or being liable for anything… because they’re children”. Rebecca Black faced just this challenge in the entertainment industry at the
Love, Anger, Madness: Rebellious Haitian Literature almost Pushed off the Edge of History
CW: Sexual Assault After the suspicious death of three family members, Marie Vieux-Chauvet and her family halted the production of Love, Anger, Madness. They travelled across Haiti to destroy all published copies, and she left her underground literary society The Spiders of the Night in order
Holding for an Hour
Above a glass-blue day another broken angel sleeps suspended, arms straight and close on the hospital bed. Her breath rings round the room, blanketing the floor, and my eyes fall heavy, but will not close. Beside us, the violets in the vase appear to chatter blithely on, marking the seconds and min
The Perfect Fit
I am pleased to advise the as-yet-uninitiated that writing a cover letter is just like writing a personal statement, except that your interests have been relegated to the bench. Don’t fret, they’re still included: it’s just time to be strategic about them, as any self-help book will tell you.
IDOLATRY (IF WE WERE MADE OF WATER)
a hunger burns – in the shade of yawning bowers bare arms slick with perspiration molten limbs in low blue light carve new skin and spread my lungs on tender soil; salt the earth idol built from nothing, will you raze the sky and ease my slumber while i am not loud you do not […]
Faltering
Words build up in my throat, sticky like caramel, to choke me. The tension spreads to my face as the backlog of muted syllables drives forward but doesn’t push itself through. My mouth contorts under the mounting pressure –I’m powerless. When the words eventually lurch out, past my tongue, tee
Review: The Spell of the Rose
Walking into New College’s ante-chapel, an intimate performance space has been demarcated in front of the organ screen, the typical set-up for a lunchtime recital. Part of the Friday Recital Series of the New Chamber Opera Studio, The Spell of the Rose promises to be “a tale of love, told th
Forgetfulness
i. through the eye of this coffee shop, schoolchildren crossing a bridge glint off the glass, chattering. thoughts caught up in little more than the mundane, little less than the ninth birthday party we forget when we’re twenty. fragments of pink cream candles and faces of yesterday.