Shows
The Daily Aftershock (Writing Prompt)Grief by Di SlaneyEditorial Note by Max WallisIn Grief, Di Slaney gives voice to something we have all probably experienced, but also what can be at times unspeakable. That sodden, shapeshifting weight we carry; wanting nothing more than to be light again, to lift, to escape the gloom of “rooms of dark that smell of wee / and tea.” And yet, it doesn’t vanish. It transforms. It sings.This line haunted me as we finalised The Aftershock Review. So much of this magazine was built in the aftermath; of collapse, of recovery, of beginning again. And li...
2025-08-0300 min
The Daily Aftershock (Writing Prompt)Odontoameloblastoma by Di SlaneyEditor’s note by Max WallisOdontoameloblastoma begins with a name too large for the body it belongs to, a long, Latin mouthful pinned to a lump on a sheep’s jaw. What follows isn’t just a clinical story or a pastoral anecdote, but something deeper: a reckoning with difference, survival, and tenderness.The sheep becomes more than a patient. It eats, plays, lives with the same joy and instinct as the rest of the flock, even as it carries what marks it out. Slaney writes this without pity. There’s no sentimentality here, just a c...
2025-07-3101 min
The Daily Aftershock (Writing Prompt)Lay my head on fleeces by Di SlaneyEditor’s note by Max WallisIn Lay my head on fleeces, Di Slaney writes with tenderness and precision about the body’s vulnerability and the quiet mercy of animals. The poem leans into wool as refuge… both physical and emotional; a place where time slows and care is instinctive. It is how we ground ourselves when the body might not. How those around us can offer us the care, even if they might be animals, to keep going. The first of three poems by Di which I’ll be sharing in coming days.
2025-07-3101 min