C/W griefFirst, find pockets of time to cry, ideally in situations where no one can ask you what’s wrong. Slice a bunch of onions. Run the water faucet (if your husband bangs on the door, and asks wha...

C/W griefFirst, find pockets of time to cry, ideally in situations where no one can ask you what’s wrong. Slice a bunch of onions. Run the water faucet (if your husband bangs on the door, and asks wha...

Flash fiction by Alison Wassell

My ama says I sell death like roasted char siu

As babes, you toddling with the cleaver, your Ma yelling. As fresh pupils, you whispering the answer, us caned by Sister Adele. As fourth gr...

My daughter runs barefoot across the fresh patch of wet grass, leaving behind a trail of giggles as my husband mock-chases her around our lawn. He’s pretending to be a monster, fi-fa-fo-fumming; stomp...

Lucille ascends while the bathwater is still running. The bathwater is still running when Max gets home after a shift that leaves his skin aching. After a shift that leaves his skin aching, Max doesn’...

Poetry shortlist – Spring 2025 Fiction shortlist – Spring 2025

and then I apply sunscreen, SPF 120, and get in my boat to row to work. The sun shines harshly, the former shifting of seasons done, leaves permanently burnt on twisted limbs, green growth relegated t...