Photography Competition Commended – Niamh McBratney
Photography by Niamh McBratney.
Photography Competition Winner – Coco Cottam
Photography by Coco Cottam.
all of these things are true and not true
prayer warbles all day beneath our birdcage because one of the budgies is always pretending to be a landline the only palm reader i know has never taken her jewellery off because the skin of her fingers folded the wedding ring in i have nothing to say but it is to you that […]
Post-Mortem of a Fallow Field
I dreamt of home last night. Your eyes were green – a cut of lime against the tongue – they startled me like birds start at the sheep-herds bawling. You had warned of something mystic, pearl chowders, purple dusks – you had said:
embroidery
sitting cross-legged on the veranda couch, I try to mirror the patience of your voice when threading the needle for the fifth time, wanting to sew your speech into linen and have it rest in my dress pocket. naively, I swaddle myself in the temporary, slipped like a bookmark betwee
The Jam Jar Forest
we went looking for the Jam Jar Forest, with memories in jars – shutting the lids tightly, so they wouldn’t leak on the way. we searched the night horizon for silver branches craning upwards in a moonlight photosynthesis. i said, listen, for the singing of a finger on a wine glass rim. follow it
Reporting Racial Harassment at Oxford
The shadow over universities: racial harassment Sophie, a student, is sitting at the bar on her university campus, when a few of her coursemates come in after a society social. Sitting across the room from her, the group gets louder, rowdier, harder to ignore. She is put on edge by their behaviour
boju says
he is now the 2am ambak falling on our tin roof & maybe but i don’t have words for this widow singing for the ghost of her husband still limping around his home of pepper trees […]
Spaces
At Scouts, we would bash the trees and see what little creatures fell out: watch them scramble in plastic ice cream tubs, taking up space only how they are told. Villages are puddles: at my feet I see myself in blue gingham, Nutella smeared at the corners of my mouth, but before I can meet [&helli