There were days when life roared at us, we drank and sang
thinking there would be time enough, but fuck April—
it’s crueller to be alone in September, when leaves drop
with violence upon violence. I remember you and I and the evening
lying down before us, swept up by futures in which we had no future.
I come here to view a voiceless ghost; I come here amongst
the fermented grapes of loss. My glass is cracked, it leaks
blood and plasma. I study it, wondering at the enduring
fascination of the inexplicable. Softly, in the evening,
I hear you singing, so softly, now that we are undone.
About the Contributor
Catherine Edmunds’ published works include a poetry collection, four novels and a Holocaust memoir. She has been nominated three times for a Pushcart Prize, shortlisted in the Bridport four times, and has been published in many literary journals, including The Frogmore Papers, Aesthetica, The Binnacle, Butchers’ Dog, Crannóg and Ambit.
The Forsyte Saga - John Galsworthy
It opens in the last years of Queen Victoria's reign, which must have felt as if it had gone on forever, with its absolute certainties of Empire and prosperity. But inevitably the end of the era comes, and all those certainties start to leech away, with repercussions on the personal lives of the characters. Soames loses Irene, he loses Robin Hill; June loses Philip Bossiney - the older Forsytes die one by one and something essential goes with them.
More from Issue Seven:
- Offshore Sakhalin Island by Hideko Sueoka
- She Looks (A Sestina) by Nicki Hastie
- Stigma by Abeer Ameer
- Lassaba by Lisa Kiew
- If Fong Has Already Been Born by Alberto Ramirez
- Aftermath by David Hanlon
- Mother by Georgina Norie
- Eating History by Clementine Ewokolo Burnley
- We Are Now Beginning Our Descent by Malcolm Devlin
- Setting Free the Spirits by Susmita Bhattacharya
- What Country’s This? by Alexandra Cocksworth
- BEatIn is just a snow blizzIard by Erkembode