Skip to main content

Dislocated by Lorraine Carey

I was pulled out, 
tugged by gloved hands,
a rummage in a handbag,
from layers of belly
under stinging lights.

My hips malformed,
disjointed and mother 
so disappointed with the scalpel 
of intervention, but my father joked 
her annoyance was greater
because she missed the end of the film.

We were in the cinema
when her waters broke,
trickled onto a floor strewn 
with cigarette ends, ticket stubs 
and the wrappers of Walnut Whips.

My pudgy legs splayed
for months while
a soft brace secured stability
for the ball and socket joint,
my movement 
severely curtailed.

I walk perfectly now for an hour 
each day, sleep each night
in a foetal curl as if back in her womb.
Mother says my gait and quick, tiny steps 
remind her of my paternal aunt’s

who ran marathons and never sat still,
a bit like my Grandma Gill
who’d meet herself coming back,
whereas I prefer taking my time 
to get places.


Lorraine Carey’s poetry is widely anthologised and published in Ireland, Britain, USA and Australia. Her poems appear in One, Black Nore Review, Atrium, Poetry Ireland Review, Gyroscope Review, Abridged, Constellate, Orbis, Prole, Poetry Birmingham, The Honest Ulsterman, Marble and Epoque Press among others. A Pushcart Prize nominee, she has been placed and shortlisted in several competitions and longlisted in The National Poetry Competition 2019. Her debut collection is From Doll House Windows (Revival Press).


Popular posts from this blog

Home by Jessa Forest

Home scratches at her shingles with tree branch fingers, pulls the air conditioning unit close to her grimy aluminum siding, and keens an empty song of mourning. We found her wandering the tornado snarled wild three months ago, starved and lonely. She doesn’t know how to take care of herself, you see? We fed her shards of dining room tables, kindling for the fireplace, and cast iron bathtubs clawed feet first. She was slow to recover so we gutted her plumbing, ripped out her nerves, and rewired the electricity. She let the water in every time it rained so we put a new roof on her and let her out for regular walks around the wolf pen. Let her mingle with the vultures, I said, let her feel useful and clean up the dead but no one wanted to listen. We found rot an mold in her corners, infused her insulation with antibiotics, and quarantined her for two weeks while she belched ladderback chairs, sofa cushions, wind chimes, and broken bookcases. She still has her bad days. After feeding time

Smoking and Swearing by Ian Manson

He’s stood outside, he’s on his break. He’s unsure whether to be smoking or swearing. He decides on both. Inhale. Fuuuck! Inhale. Fuuuck! A person, a visitor, or a patient. Heading to the hospital, sees his scrubs and scowls. “ It’s not very professional for a nurse to be smoking and swearing. ” But he doesn’t care. He’s already done his good deed for the morning and by midnight he’ll have done a dozen more. Yesterday was a paltry four. Tomorrow’s shift will be five or two or maybe eight, and another night of finishing late. Inhale. Fuuuck! He breathes a cloud of smoke. Watches it swirling, ascending, a spirit en-route to heaven. The person’s saintly sanctimony means nothing to him. Because he’s on his break. And he’s smoking, and he’s swearing. --- Originally from Scotland, Ian has lived and worked in Worcestershire for the last 11 years. He can normally be found performing his poetry and prose at events on the Worcester spoken word scene

The Pink Roll Top Bath is £995 and Says Sold. I Want to Know who has Bought it. by Wendy Allen

I grasp a piece of invisible text from Delta of Venus and bite so hard juice runs down to where I'm smooth inside. I am falling over the edge in anticipation of your mouth.  My lips curve like the rim of the roll top bath,  they smile, then say,  fuck me over the side. Open mouthed, soft inside, I swell, clitoral bulbs freeze framed in slow, they grow - lento.  I’m an Attenborough nature programme, my clitoris evolves from want.  Don’t stop - you make me summer. --- Wendy Allen has been published in Atrium, Re-Side, Brunel Writer and Northern Gravy. She has a Legitimate Snack coming out shorty from Broken Sleep and is about to start an MA in Creative Writing at Oxford Brookes.