top of page


by Callum McGuire -

morning melts,

thawed by leaves alight

with mortality.

colourful cadavers crunched underfoot,

their brittle bones

bear consensus

on the beauty of death.

gatecrashers to demise’s debutante,

behind Autumn doors we find respite


a thousand



our slow swoon wards off

the urgency to live.

October recalls

all we are not,

a conspiracy of ghosts

decry your fate

in childhood’s refrain:

“what are you

supposed to be?”

that empty, eye-holed sheet

propped by a stubborn


I see no convincing evidence

for my existence.

persistent still,

I try to commune with the other side.

they aren’t in right now

but if I leave a message,

they might get back to me.

I know where all the bodies are buried

having pressed the fresh earth down myself.


I awaken them

I need the company.


Cal is an adventurer in the land of post-college life. Their interests include anthropology, playing music and screaming into an apathetic void. They have been published in UCC's Quarryman, The Same Page Anthology, Revisiting Inspiration, and many other journals that are just too secret to talk about.


bottom of page