Prose and poetry by Alex Hickman
In Dar es Salaam we boarded the bus and then just sat there, waiting to go, the engine idling while through the open windows passed a fine dust and raised by unseen hands, aluminum trays of over-ripe bananas and bags of cashews, the banana smell and the hawkers crying for their money, the hawkers’ smell […]
Read More…Do you remember a glorious morning before the war when I swam you out to sea against your mother’s warning of urchins? You holding too tight around my neck, laughing and urging me on across the vast blue space. You were not punctured by urchins that day. Or remember when paddling on that steep beach […]
Read More…Many who voted remain at the referendum worry that their country is being taken from them. It’s not just that they regret we are leaving the EU. They fear that as an independent country Britain might become a different place, with values they don’t recognise. This anxiety is real for many but it is groundless. […]
Read More…Although I took a sabbatical to work for Vote Leave during last year’s referendum campaign I was never an enthusiastic leaver; it took David Cameron’s unconvincing renegotiation to push me over the line, confirming my impression that the EU dream was now broken, and in order to protect our democracy it was time for the UK to take […]
Read More…A lane pulling away between fields laid low with winter wear. The village men and women out in January weather, their boots clocking hours against the road, raking hay and plastic out of the verge their spades cutting places for thorn and hazel. The wind coming in and the lines of rain on the wind, […]
Read More…A night burst of inter-galactic loving has rinded the garden white our lawn a west country landing for moon beams, spent kisses iron in our lawn. Through my study window I watch my boys’ garden play, their joy pricked by the morning’s cold blade, what better way than football to crack open this day? They […]
Read More…When one is pushed off a high building, bound to a plastic chair is there any sense of relief – that one is freed from the barbarism, I mean? Does a crazy stillness prevail, am I feeling out for God’s hands, stretching hoping fantastically for lift? Whispering someone’s name. Does the smash hurt? I imagine it like […]
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