Writer’s Note: this poem was originally published in the August 2021 ‘Family’ issue of PopShot magazine. My Father Was An Athlete He ran out of the maternity ward so fast,that he got to the finish line beforeI even opened my eyes for the first time. And every man that came after himTreat us like it… Continue reading My Father Was An Athlete
Dear Ma You once wrote of me that I am like a chair not a comfortable one but strong and supportive. Today I write to you to say that you are the table at which we dine at every night. Your thick oak limbs have held more difficult decisions than traditional cuisine and your back… Continue reading Dear Ma
Star of Hope (1883) One hour and forty-five minutes is howlong it took to walk to the mouth of thebeast that swallowed you, and back. Along the way is where I found you. Inthe distance you looked like a group of peoplecrouching, a consortium of people. I thought maybe fishermen, or women,which reminded me of… Continue reading Star of Hope (1883)
The Flea Market by: Romina Ramos Originally published in The Bolton Review Issue 9: Rats & Revelry This town is haunted by stained glass godsand crawling with slithering saints, but on the third Sunday of every monththe flea market comes. On this day it is permitted to skip Morning Mass,on this Sunday there is a… Continue reading The Flea Market
Delayed We’ll get the 16:22 Hazel Grove service,and we’ll get off at Piccadilly station. The train will be delayed by 17 minutesbut we won’t notice because our eyes will be lost in conversation. I will sipfrom my coffee and we’ll share a cigarette and by the time the train arriveswe’ll have seen each other naked.
The Starry Night after Van Gogh It haunts me, the starsyellow eyes peering behind curling clouds, like wild wavesfoaming in my dreams. I wake on the edge, the precipiceof sleep. I turn to the moon for strength but through itsteeth you can hear the sneer. ‘Jump’ whispered in winds.
You were temptationin a tight red dress, the shotof tequila that pushedme over the edge. You were prohibitionon my tongue, secrecycutting through the airlike stale perfume. Youwere cool silk on my skin. You were an island on a treasure map.I meant all that I said butI had to search for the gold.
She was all mandalas
and peace signs, a free
spirit dancing on the
graves of our society…
The Week My Grandmother Died I screamed at my mum to get the car, and carried my grandmother down the stairs. I prayed for the first time in a over a decade, to a god that I don’t believe in. I muffled violent sobs with a beach towel in the back yard. I did not… Continue reading The Week My Grandmother Died
The Emerald Isle Herself I packed up my whole life and movedoverseas for her. Granted it was more likeacross the pond, only two hundred andtwenty-six miles, but it was two hundredand twenty-six miles out of my comfort zone. To a brand-new country, where they speak thesame language, only there it sounded morelike a song, and… Continue reading The Emerald Isle Herself