In the latest issue:

Botanic Macaroni

Steven Shapin

What made the Vikings tick?

Tom Shippey

In the Lab

Rupert Beale

Will there be a Brexit deal?

Anand Menon

Short Cuts: Under New Management

Rory Scothorne

Out-Tissoted

Bridget Alsdorf

Sarah Moss

Blake Morrison

Poem: ‘Country Music’

Ange Mlinko

On the Trail of Garibaldi

Tim Parks

Art Lessons

Peter Campbell

You’ll like it when you get there

Tom Crewe

Early Kermode

Stefan Collini

‘The Vanishing Half’

Joanna Biggs

At the Movies: ‘The Truth’

Michael Wood

The Suitcase: Part Two

Frances Stonor Saunders

Poem: ‘Siri U’

Jorie Graham

Diary: Getting into Esports

John Lanchester

Mud HoneymoonSylvia Kantaris
Close
Close

The tide had drawn the river out and made
their bridal bed immaculate.
Too late now to stop. Already
they had grown amphibious and entered
slithering and stripping off Age
after Age of formal wedding-dress
to reach their satin element of mud,
their skin a sheen of mud,
their belly mud on mud,
their pulse a simple wedding march of mud.

They were not seen again although it’s said
some early-morning fisherman dragged up
a tailcoat and a bridal train from the riverbed
but could not disentangle them and threw them back.

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