K.V. Skene

And this is a Clock

counting the seconds to tomorrow
and tomorrow and tomorrow
should be hand-in- hand
and the back-home smell of wild
roses overtaking the runaway grasses
and sky-high hollyhocks
and the two of us make-believing,
not me forgiving you
holding each other up,
above
the wreak of prime-time and this
is how we promised to be. Not me
circling an antiseptic room
stinking of stress and sweat and sorrow
and takeaway coffee. Not me,
cursing a clock that blinks each second, minute,
hour, day and disappearing night away. This is
not me forgiving you
a death I don’t want to live through. This
is not me. Not
you.

K.V. Skene’s work has appeared in Canadian, U.K., U.S., Irish, Indian, Australian and Austrian magazines, most recently in Obsessed With Pipework, Envoi, Orbis, Cahoots and The High Window. Her latest chapbook, Under Aristotle Bridge, was published in 2015 by Finishing Line Press..

K.V. Skene’s work has appeared in Canadian, U.K., U.S., Irish, Indian, Australian and Austrian magazines, most recently in Obsessed With Pipework, Envoi, Orbis, Cahoots and The High Window. Her latest chapbook, Under Aristotle Bridge, was published in 2015 by Finishing Line Press..

Mandy Haggith

Discontent

Blue sky, fast-moving cloud,
all the trees with sun-silvered branches,

gleaming rushes bent eastwards,
backs to the wind we all know is coming,

like we turn our backs on the politicians whose untruths
sting our eyes if we face them,

turn our backs on the impacts of fossil fuel burning,
unable to countenance alternatives,

turn our backs on the people
whose forests are cut down, whose land is flooded.

Whether we face it or not,
the wind will blow.

Mandy Haggith lives in Assynt, Scotland, and teaches Literature and Creative Writing at the University of the Highlands and Islands. Her books include four poetry collections, most recently Why the Sky is Far Away (Red Squirrel Press, 2019), a tree poetry anthology, a non-fiction book about paper and five novels. www.mandyhaggith.net

Lori Drummond-Mundal

Lori Drummond-Mundal
Photo 1964

November birthdays are dark in the North,
untouched by the light of four thin candles

on a snow-white cake. Her harsh words hit
as if honed through generations, your face

ironed flat by the scolding’s scarlet slap.
You stare into the corner, as if watching

your delight stream down the slatted vents.
Curtains drawn against imposing night

shut out bright birch, our woodland allies.
If I could, I would take on muscles and cape,

leap to your rescue, but the best shield
I can supply is the happy-family-smile,

while you disappear behind wary owl’s eyes.
Fly, little sister.

Lori Drummond-Mundal lives in Stavanger, Norway with her husband, having made the move 150 degrees east from her roots in Alaska nearly 30 years ago. Her poetry has appeared in Orbis, Despite Knowing – an anthology of poems on addiction edited by Veronica Aaronson (Fore Street Press, 2021) and is forthcoming in Dawntreader. She is currently working on a collection of poems and stories woven from memory and imagination.