share


Prism

 

Board trustees tapped heirloom spoons against the graduates’
wet green skulls to get at the yolk. Academics, in chorus,
drilled and blew until we were bright       and
airy,       ready for democracy.       Cheeks inflated like bubonic plague,
foreheads stretched like      drumskin, rainbowed
like wounds, skin  whining, funny helium voices.
I watched the best essayists of my generation float
over the Amazon       rainforest and burning       California
to drink the sun from the sky,    bite and chew and beat its yellow,
so they came back to us     rigged, rainless sierras.
Each time we fell to the ground like flies under an educative glass,
never realising: some skies have a limit, and this is ours.


ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTOR

is a writer and visual artist from Wales and elsewhere. Her work has appeared in bath magg, LUMIN and The Good Journal, among others. Her short story ‘Deep Heart’ won the Guardian 4th Estate BAME Short Story Prize in 2019. She lives and loves in South London.

READ NEXT

fiction

January 2014

Textile

Orly Castel-Bloom

TR. Dalya Bilu

fiction

January 2014

It was not only avoiding thoughts of home that helped the good sniper to carry out his mission as...

fiction

September 2016

STILL MOVING

Lynne Tillman

fiction

September 2016

 I am bound more to my sentences the more you batter at me to follow you. – William Carlos...

Interview

February 2014

Interview with Lisa Dwan

Rosie Clarke

Interview

February 2014

In a city where even the night sky is a dull, starless grey, immersion in absolute darkness is a...

 

Get our newsletter

 

* indicates required