MIR Editor
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TRAPPINGS, by Fiona McCulloch
Is it no terrible that wir auld neebour’s deed, an he wisna aw that auld tae? Aye, terrible son. The pair sowel.
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THE ROSES AND THE WEEDS, by Elinora Westfall
She wishes that she had kept a written record of all the epic bloody nonsense that has come out of his mouth over the years because she could have gained some kind of minor social media fame and parleyed a book deal out of it to boot: Shit My Stupid Shag Buddy Says.
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ROOSTER, by Nikzad Nourpanah
After the meeting, I told Ramin, ‘You spoke well. You showed them who’s boss!’ ‘Why were you so quiet?’ he said, ‘you should’ve taught them a lesson, too!’ After this pointless exchange, we returned to our office.
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POEM AND INTERVIEW: Scarlett Sabet
A Flag for Hope Revolution and execution,obscured the viewof a landmy Father would never return tothe lines of the body a battle ground,strands of hair a flag for hope.I can feel it when words are close,reach outhold a seance between pen,finger and thumb,resurrect the relatives whose voices came undoneand remember,all the blood that was shedbefore I…
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BOBBY, by Alison Theresa Gibson
Do you remember the day we met? You were driving a truck with CWA imprinted on the side. Country Women’s Association.
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THE RHYTHM, by Anu Pohani
It’s English class. You sit behind me. I start the note. Something simple. Not witty, how about – ‘good weekend?’ Your precise handwriting comes back, ‘pretty good. Soccer game.’
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PJ HARVEY READS ORLAM AT CONWAY HALL, Reviewed by Amy Ridler
Orlam is an exploration of Dorset myth, woven into the changing of the seasons. There are two worlds in Orlam – The first is the real world (farm), the second world is made of dreams and visions (the woods).
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GRASS, by Emma Purshouse
He’s trying to blank me, but when it becomes clear I’m not going anywhere, he answers, easing his hood up to cover his brass neck and baseball cap as he does so.
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ANATOMY OF A SHORT STRUGGLE, OR, AN EVENTFUL JOURNEY BY TRAIN, by Mark Haw
i. The still point near Westerton They had inserted a still point just before Westerton, north-west suburb of Glasgow: under the hill, beside the housing estate. Our train came to a halt there.
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DAVY JONES, by Kapu Lewis
Woman found drowned on pavement, Thirty miles from sea. There was salt water in her lungs, She smelled of lemon suns, basil. The crust of Tube dirt was under her nails, with the bark of the Angelica Tree.
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