The Sirens

by Emilia Hart

In the evenings, her mother came home with her mouth and shoulders sagging, as if her job produced its own kind of gravity.

voice had valleys and crags, telling you of sadness or delight. You could almost feel it under your fingers, like it was land.

I laugh at Max’s jokes, tell him I think the lead singer of AFI sounds like he has a fence post up his bum.

Hey now! Poor Davy Haavik

The waves drape themselves like lace over the sand,