she dyed her hair pink. No one would know that yesterday it was brown. Unless they saw her yesterday, of course, or saw her facebook or instagram or snapchat live stream of the dying process which was also shared to youtube. she dyed her hair pink. Brown haired Amanda is gone!!! #newhair #whodis all traces of … Continue reading She Dyed
Our fathers glitch by fifty, hearts freeze framed mid- pump. Our mothers metastasize, pass errors womb to womb to breast. I enter GodMode: swallow the tail end of life and cheat death / cheat code / cheat this failing body, this inheritance I never asked for. GodMode is a common cheat code in video games, giving unlimited ‘lives’. By Jack … Continue reading GodMode
Matryoshka tiger-skin lancer: dot of yellow, I clasp your maimed torso; it is like a tiny, weightless bolt, and then that spill of oil: dew on a stark summer morning. By Joseph Bullock Continue reading The Wasp
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I remember how it had once tasted;
The sweet air
The stale fumes
The incomprehensible fly to the flame,
Wondering how he, too, fell for the light. Continue reading “Where These Words Came From”
Holly Hopkins is an award winning poet, having won the Poetry Business Pamphlet Competition for her debut collection, Soon Every House will have One, as well as the Eric Gregory Award, and the Poetry Book Society Pamphlet Choice amongst others.
two paints in the pack:
cadmium yellow and
cadmium red.
the yellow’s on my nails –
you like that one.
you hold my hand out and inspect it
mostly shine, with the occasional chip.
you don’t seem to notice the chip,
or, at least, it doesn’t bother you;
it’s nice.
Death is sleeping
beneath the surface of the water.
She is alive with insects,
moss flowering over her wings.
Little black bat, submerged in formaldehyde,
leather-skinned old woman–
don’t wake just yet. Continue reading “November”
I woke the night it finally rained
With a desire to take myself outside and lie down
Among all the broken spines of estranged grass
Baked dry by this new breed of summer sun Continue reading “4AM Rain”
For the village of strong women that raised me. I am indebted, always.
I will always need another body to follow through the fog
another voice to cut through the darkness
a thousand more tongues to set alight when our syllables
become knives
more fingernails to watch collect ink and stone as they claw their way home Continue reading “A Song for Many Mothers”
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