A new poem

Sarah Skwire

Your body’s weight on mine, and I am light,
am made of light, am particle and wave,
a beam brought into focus by the force
your body brings to bear.

Your weight on me is necessary now,
that perfect touch of drag that makes me fly
not fly apart. No anchor this, but ballast
fixed to let me rise.

Bereft of you, with only sweetest thoughts
of your sweet weight upon me, I can feel
each feather touch, each insubstantial  kiss.
I’m heavy with desire.

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