Three Prose Poems by Melissa Benton Barker
Our father takes us out past the breakers, into the swells. We can’t touch the bottom, but he can.
Ebb’s Nook by Tim Craig
It’s a liminal place, this promontory. Existing at the point where the sky meets the land, the bay meets the open sea and — with the outline of the tiny 12th Century chapel walls still just visible under the soft turf — the past meets the present.
What Remains by Jan Turk Petrie
Must be twenty or more out there on hands and knees digging up our once beautiful garden right down to the ochre subsoil; no stone is to be left unturned.
Interview with Ingrid Jendrzejewski
Once a writer has a good feel for the basics, I think one of the most difficult aspects of writing to master comes down to the question of what to include on the page and what to leave out.
On the Last Ferry to Inishbofin by Roberta Beary
Lost in the landscapes were the blue gulls careening their watchful dance. The sea was the colour of loss, of father’s last words. Nothing so grand as be not afraid in the original.