In the latest issue:

Loathed by Huysmans

Julian Barnes

Too early or too late?

David Runciman

Short Cuts: Five Victorian Marriages

Tom Crewe

Society as a Broadband Network

William Davies

Fifteen days from now

Thomas Jones

In 1348

James Meek

The Yorkists

John Guy

At the Movies: Pasolini’s ‘Teorema’

Michael Wood

Whitehall Spookery

Neal Ascherson

Poem: ‘The Bannisters’

Paul Muldoon

Clarice Lispector

Rivka Galchen

Marius Petipa

Simon Morrison

At the Foundling Museum: ‘Portraying Pregnancy’

Joanne O’Leary

Gordon v. O’Connor

Rupert Thomson

Revism

Joe Dunthorne

Poem: ‘The Reach of the Sea’

Maureen N. McLane

Diary: Where water used to be

Rosa Lyster

Close
Close

They stand here in a shocked silence,
these grouped bodies in cold dresses,
their eyes downcast; the hands quietly gesture
from this flaking grotto of wishes.

But something flares in a corner –
gladioli, tongues spurting into darkness:
someone has been here before us.

Is it food these people are asking
or their freedom? We wrench the heavy door open
on a flat world, an ordinary crossroads,
silos swaying in a hot ripple.

This is not the chapel
we were looking for, these are not
gods we ever worshipped. We walk out into a rising
hot breath, the give of our tarry footprints.

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