Duet for Solo Violin by Martha Anne Toll

“We’ll plan a Memorial Concert,” Adam said to the guests seated in folding chairs around his father.  “As soon as Dad’s up to it.” The two pianos faced each other like matching jigsaw pieces.  Someone had thought to lower their ebony lids.  Victor Pearl, mute in his green armchair, extended his long legs.  He was the remaining half of Pearl and Pearl, the two piano team renowned for their sparkling precision at the piano faculty at Philadelphia’s famed Caldwell... Read More

From the Chinese “after Su Tung Po” (George Freek)

I watch the snow fall among stately pines. It falls randomly, making incoherent designs. Silently it covers the pines, and chokes the moon’s light. If the moon is God’s eye, it looks upon a desolate night. Nothingness stares at me, and won’t pass from my sight. The pines bend in the wind. I hear them groan. If anything dies tonight, It must die alone. George Freek is a poet/playwright living in Illinois. His poetry has recently appeared in ‘The Missins Slate’;... Read More

All in a Day’s Work by Soondus Aslam

I don’t like working Saturday nights. Too many drunks vomiting, pub fights, slips and trips, sprained ankles, bumpy foreheads, lacerated lips and overdoses. The early morning suicidal teenager accompanied by her frantic parents, waiting for psychs to turn up and evaluate her. Over the years I had grown bored of it. Seniority allowed me to avoid these shifts but the new registrar had to attend a wedding this weekend. I was the only one available. “It’ll soon be over”, I... Read More

Dancing in Alexanderplatz by Emily Oldham

You come when she calls you. Her smile tinkles payment, silvering the concrete. You dance in Alexanderplatz, right there, alone, abroad in the sleepwalking square. Unreal square, unreal. I wasn’t there. My world tiptoed through that day aloof, alone. I never see your monument to love, long, lingering, ludicrous, trapped in ugly prancing-limbo by her camera. You legend – can I write it? Could I write you down? There once was – lived – loved – danced, there. Past tense... Read More

Human Statue by M.J. Duggan

Hot summer’s day, a blue and white rosebud pleated on a triangle dress, sat squat, a square brown shopping bag like a drawn oak table.   Along the promenade tanned faces flirting with the high-street the walking dead with infinite credit, pausing at what they perceive to be visual art. maybe a Banksy or maybe it could just be a Hurst.   No, it’s just Homeless Man slumped and asleep with a black trilby placed at his feet, his dog sits in the leg of hot shadow.   Disillusioned... Read More