Saoirse Jackson (Age: 16)

Quand le monde semble se briseret que le ciel devient lourd de silence,il est facile de croireque l’espoir s’est perdu quelque part,comme une étincelleemportée par le vent. Les rivières ralentissent sous un ciel d’azur pâle,les forêts se taisent dans leurs...

A poem for my Grandmother, Sheilah, and her parents, Anna and Stan — The morning the telegram arrived, my Sheilah – just one month old – babbled a noise that sounded like « Daddy ». Stan would’ve beamed with pride, his laughter...

They say he bloomed overnight. Skin budding in sickly petals, eyes sealed in the yellow hush of honey turned wrong. A man becoming plural— flesh forgetting itself. The air bent around him, thick as milk and humming. He tried to...

They never get it right the first time. Sometimes it comes out like a question mark, like they’re scared to try. Other times, it’s mangled so badly I don’t recognise it as mine. I used to laugh along, small and...

The Slow Unravelling The first time I knew — really knew — was at the dinner table. He was across from me, twirling his fork through his pasta, his eyes flicking toward the muted television over my shoulder. I was...

I was here before your first breath — before your hands carved mountains into monuments. I was the pulse beneath your feet, the quiet hum in your lungs, but you only listened when I screamed. I cracked my skies open,...

I. The First Time I see her by the ruined stone wall, a wisp of a girl, hair tangled like brambles, eyes too big for her hollowed face. She watches me as if I am something dangerous, or something golden....