Poetry In the dark, out of damp black loam, they’ve sprung back in their bonnets and straw hats. Pale arms dusted by the moon. Pale faces without weariness. ‘Explain yourself,’ my grandmother once said to me, hands on her hips. ‘You think you can explain it all away?’ said...

Poetry In a world of cunning shadesI’m the only sleuth. I hop on the train bound for a futureI’ve been hired to investigate. For a moment all lights flickerin reverence or prayeras if dragged this way and that by their roots. A delicate...