• Marías at Sampaguitas

Poetry by Nick Newman

Content warning: reference to suicide

Fog on the window

When I first write this story, my pencil

snaps halfway through the first sentence

I pick up another but a hand crumples me

like linen to the stubble floor.


[paragraph] - incision

[paragraph] - exorcism


now the lines just lie there giving me the side-eye

all of that hurt become mundane


did you two ever talk about this?


I curl armadillo-stiff, my friend coaxing

it simmered, rot

beneath the bathroom floor,

‘the straw that snapped the camel’s back’ but

I wanted to tidy the strands,

lock them up with trembling hands

tell her to ignore the weight for

just another day:


it was good gothic horror, how we went quiet, watching as

her event horizon drew near

and I think of the child’s game I played

staring out the window:

if I don’t blink until I step off

this bus, she’ll be alive,

she’ll call me back;




Nick Newman (he/him) grew up in China and Scotland, and studies English Lit at the Uni of Leeds. His work is forthcoming in Mineral Lit Mag, Stone of Madness, and Lucky Pierre, and you can find him procrastinating on twitter @_NickNewman.  


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