Susan Wigmore

THROUGH THE WINDOW

By Susan Wigmore

Demons cavort in the darkness of trees. Slender, knuckle-cracking things, whispering a wasp language. You stop your ears with moss,…

The Marriage Market

By Susan Wigmore

An old Bedford van passes you on the track to the *moussem. On top, penned but precarious, barely a bleat,…

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