I turn the blue estuary ruby as you watch me from your writing shed the water is peony up close a mix of blood clots like jelly fish and...

c/w: attempted suicide, medical issues The weekend following my surgery, a nurse stomped her foot on the metal break. My first steps...

Leaving the Grounded Feather Untouched The birds are yet to wake when I collect my tools: kitchen scissors, nail clippers, secateurs,...

Free Spirit How often we wish to become the birds—happy and free, baptizing ourselves with the rays of the sun. So we subscribe to...

zeniths and mortars what words are these tightropes of bronze stars pockets of papered lies ploughing they want you to wear a statue of...

Pale moons, burst balloons, they are ashen on the Zoom call. How’s everyone doing? I ask. The feedback echoes for eternity. I’ve been...

A day was lost on that locket A loose hair lock, one hundred and four years old Let go, tore away from the safety Of its bronze snap...

Even on dreary Lake Erie among tufts of grass and broken glass hot sand sparkled like it knew no better and we knew that summer would...

Clare Proctor has had poetry in publications including Shooter, The North and Finished Creatures and in anthologies including the...

Ice Cream in Tarantula Country when I lived in a car, my father hid us away across broken tarmac in tarantula country ...