Spiral by Kathryn Aldridge-Morris
We’re staring down a tin of Quality Street at the centre of our circle of seats when the church door bangs open. It’s a new bloke, crucifix dripping from his neck like a lanyard.
We’re staring down a tin of Quality Street at the centre of our circle of seats when the church door bangs open. It’s a new bloke, crucifix dripping from his neck like a lanyard.
She remembers the vodka-clear starts of nights. Leggings, suede jackets and crimping hair, her sister separating strands.
We are pleased to announce the following nominations from NFFR for the 2023 Pushcart Prize.