By Mairéad Maguire With confidence born of vodka, I cup his chin in my palm. My thumb languidly, and less than gently, left to right, drags. His bottom lip. He kneels beside me faceless. In the garden of a stranger, on a night of unknowing. The starless sky under us and- deep earth above. I am nothing but my hands. He is nothing, but he opens his mouth. White picket fence. My thumb crosses the boundary line. Trespasses a while, inside his skull. I own his ja

By Beda Higgins The Christmas jumper my grandson bought me needs to go back. Orange and yellow stripes aren’t for me but he’s young and it’s the thought that counts. Return policy is complicated with blacklines and rules for a specific drop-off depo to use that is shut closed for three days strike action. The present has to be returned by tomorrow. I like a daily task since they

By LJ. Bleddyn I cut myself open and compare my heart strings to others read the blue and red veins like lines on an open palm mitigate the differences and twist at the similarities same same, but different in my vein paths I wonder why all I've done is chase my own tail for a decade circling in on each other like some destructive rat-king their paths show brick, foundations and funds: security I can scrutinise all day, until the young moon waxes across the sky but the realit