Early On

A new poem

Sarah Skwire

My little fish, my merry minnow,
swimming in my sea-salt center,
spinning, diving in my middle,
safely sporting in this water.

Heaven keep you, wriggling writher,
happy, warm inside your mother.
Tend my worries with your laughter,
little fish, my son, my daughter.

An autumn note

“For many, the end of this uneasy year cannot come quickly enough”

An ordinary killing

Ian Cobain’s book uses the killing of Millar McAllister to paint a meticulous portrait of the Troubles

Greater—not wiser

John Mullan elucidates the genius of Charles Dickens
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