Every morning I ask my partner
to recount her dreams, not ambitions or hopes
but the reels in her head as we slept.
And I trace. I trace the light
from the unicorn skull with nimble fingers,
press my thumbs to my eyes, block out the light
and try to hear the stories. How do you manifest
your dreams, or those of others?
– Aaron Kent
A baby’s arm on a bonfire,
the white hum of a fridge, the girl
with the event horizon mouth.
Crack dust, the pollen
caught fast in my hairy legs,
dark spiders in my eye-rims,
An egg in a passage, sea-bed
refugee grass that passes
all this, a dawn of Oh really,
turning to open where language
– Emma Hammond
The poetic interview with Emma Hammond is still in progress. Keep checking back for more.