Revenge of the Muse
Near the end of the Tate Modern’s Dora Maar retrospective, the largest so far in the UK, there is a recording of a conversation between the eighty-seven-year-old Dora Maar and Francis Morris, now head of the Tate Modern. In the conversation, originally recorded for the Tate’s 1995 Picasso retros
Blight
A tangle of growing things filled your belly: made your shrinking stomach bulge. Strings turned taut; drawn across each bend and curve now struck bare. Arid, audible – a space between each branch yawning. Fissure in the breeze. Chewed or gnawed: your fraying edges expanded the light between yo
A Feast for the Eyes
Still Life with Fruit, Jacob van Walscapelle, c. 1675 1. Against a tastefully dark background, colours look richer. The edge of a crystal wine glass stands out more sharply, a pomegranate seems redder, the bloom on the midnight-purple skin of a grape looks softer. This is what food is in
On Manish Shah
On the same day that Harvey Weinstein’s lawyers opened their defence at his heavily-covered rape trial in Manhattan, another pivotal sexual assault case drew to a close across the Atlantic: Manish Shah was sentenced to life in prison, in Court One at the Old Bailey. The jurors in both New York and
First Home
The front door was pale and blotchy But its fist clenched my key, unpeeling the hall. It squatted cold and stared, clutching a leg Of ham whose skin flaked fat-yellow on the floor. I found some plums in the fruit-bowl. Their flesh sagged. Their purple sank. They swallowed when I touched them. Then y
The Self-Care Machine
“Careful, Poppy: THIS makes him lose interest FAST.” An email flashes up on my phone. It’s Matthew Hussey, an Essex-born dating guru whose four-million strong, predominantly female flock I have recently joined. The girl next to me has inevitably seen – it doesn’t matter, because soon ‘Ma
Little Moments
Score the big moments. Score the euphoria and the bereavement. Score triumph, total fury, big wins, bigger losses. Score the little moments, too. Score the unknown and the sensual and the middle of the night. Score lost keys and pocket change. Score 2020 and uncertainty. Put your headphones in. Foll
The Rhymelessness of Orange
The tangerine played hard to get, Full-pipped and bursting ’til it wept In half a drop – and in the bed it Let itself, still pressurised, Implode. And now, I see the eyes (Tomorrow’s seeds) come whining. Lungs segment and shine with Pithy veins of difficult. The reeling brains unsqueeze A