By Jiya Julia Marie What happened when we named Nature? That day of walls and windows when wild became somewhere we visit when she became Outside? What a relief to keep out the storms! Her endless cold her terrifying unpredictability empty bellies long walks and Us surviving. How precious the shelter felt then! (Safe) We could not tell how the walls would thicken. We did not know then of the high rises. Human branches

By Emma Yalçin Tragedy was not buried, only hidden beneath snow and silence – retold in whispers beside hearths, worn thin, like a prayer repeated too long. In the hollow rifts of the eastern dağlar, where embittered winds carve grief into stone, the air smelled wrong, like spilled milk and broken oaths. Even the old shepherds grew quiet – for they knew what scent brings the wolves. Not just wolves. Bozkurtlar – grey spirits of the steppe, born of fire, dusk, and ancient bloo

By Llorraine Mc Colgan Tom is dead. A shot of him atop the coffin in the cold country church plonked amidst, it must be, forty fields bare of cattle just resting green. For someone loved, someone vivid, the prayers are perfunctory delivered flat and the only stories told of him are by a Polish priest who never knew him but got them second hand.. When the cello curls in on its own heart the walnut wood of the pew vibrates and all of the ghost roots reattach. Where stone is bru