By Hope Savage I have never known this. Not-stable-steady-love, But-the-juddering-of-fear-love. So-uneasy-on-your-feet- screaming-like-nobody-can-hear-love. The-spitting-biting-hitting-butting- scarcity-of-real-love. The-hit-yourself-in-your-own-face- until-the-day-you-feel-love. The-cannot-move-a-minute- from-my-lap-in-case-I-leave-love. The-appearing-by-my-side- every-single-time-I-breathe-love. The-everyone-is-missing- so-you-worry-I-have-died-love. The-push-me-pull-me-bat

By Maggie Davison In spring, they praise you, as you gather cowslips and garlic. They say you’re a beauty, a child of nature, a gift from God. In summer, they queue at your cottage with sick children and animals, leave with potions of liquorice root, sap, witch hazel and elder. In autumn, they scoop up their children, pin a hare skin to your door, place rowan twigs, tied with red thread, to their garden gates. In winter, they drag you high on the hill, watch as flames burn yo

By Grace Henry An old tree Crumbling on the motte Besieged by the river, Caverns barricaded with moss. Lichens cling To cadaverous fingers, stretched out, Clawing at the moon in her celestial palace, With her dying star courtiers Smouldering Their last anthem to the cold abyss. Roots, six layers deep, Rotted and hollow as a collapsed foundation On bent knee, Crown falling to the floor. Core all but pith and mould, The blackening marches outwards, Starving for treasure; The