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by Emily Munro

The plant hadn’t flowered for eight years

but this time it was worth photographing

and was lifted from its saucer

for display in the largest room.

Downstairs the Unit staff were laughing

to have handled another bender

as three blooms fell into arranging

by Kubrick’s inactive clock.

I pull out the camera

bought to record our family

between full breasts I am equipped, chimera,

lensed immortal.

I snap the pot, tendrils spilt at the sides

bursting pink circles

and turn to the window, my framer guide

to catch the season’s throttle.

It’s the campaign harvest, a warm air

filters chattering megaphones.

Park life snatches voters there

to uncoil wintered limbs in happy stretches.

The bowls have shut for reconditioning

but the rackets are in full swing,

each fleecy lemon ricocheting

or net-clustered in over ripe rounds.

Beneath the Arts and Sciences,

Neptune’s brick satellites,

beaming down a thousand appliances

zenith to nadir.

To build a barbeque nation

they have chosen lawns before laws

and now untethered from examinations

the young ones circle in packs.


About the author:

Emily Munro is a writer, curator and filmmaker based in Glasgow, Scotland. Her feature-length documentary Living Proof: A Climate Story (2021) uses archive footage to explore the roots of the climate crisis. Living Proof received critical praise from New Scientist magazine, the Times and Little White Lies, amongst other publications and was nominated for a FOCAL award. She has an MLitt (Distinction) in Creative Writing from the University of Glasgow, and has written two novels. Her work explores themes of the environment, history and anxiety. She is interested in hauntology and our relationship to the past in the Anthropocene.

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