by Claire Connolly We step out of the sea and straight into our socks; fuck the sand, it’s cold. Turn on the engine, start the…
by Bríd McGinley No time to get a basket, I bundle the dirty laundry in one of Peter’s shirts – his favourite white cotton oxford…
by JP Relph A roiling marmalade sun burned as we danced in the strange snow. The rail-track verge like a packed platform, dense with brambles…
by Elodie Barnes Her body was a jellyfish that had lost its sting. Cold. Curiously pliant, her skin yielding to doctors, nurses, powders, pills. Floating…
by Joanne Hayden Hiding in the dunes, the father watched, field-glasses pressed to his eyes. His son was crouching by a rockpool, staring down. He…
by Clodagh O’Brien ‘What did you do now?’ the mother asks. ‘Nothing, I did nothing’, her son says, palms as bowls. ‘That’s not true,’ the…
by Hanne Larsson Serves 2 Melt your fatigue in a thick bottomed saucepan. Blend in a pinch of salt (restorative). Do not let bubble, leave…
by Rachael Smart It was a week of high-waisted jeans and sugar eaten on the hoof and kiss musk. I wore a top hat. He…
by Charlotte Turnbull My house is full of wood. The beds are sleighs, the doors are ledge and brace, the worktops are many, many generous…
by Stephanie Ní Thiarnaigh Imagine Cúchulainn once stood on a seashore throwing stones with incredible precision at a bird named Fand that he didn’t realise…