S h o r t S t o r i e s / F l a s h F i c t i o n / Po e t r y
POPS H OT QUARTERLY THE ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE OF NEW WRITING
Exclusive story by Booker Prize nominee Daisy Johnson
T HE I N T I MAC Y I SSUE Issue 31 – Spring 2021
“I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.” – M ad e l i n e M i l l e r, T he So n g o f Ac h i l l e s
I N T I M AC Y | Illu stration by Lor na Dolby-Ste ve ns
PRICE RIGHT Fla sh fic tion by Tr ista Wilson Illu stration by Cara Rooney
She fell deeply, madly, inexplicably in love with the head of lettuce. It sat there so unobtrusively under the grocery store lights, bathed in a fine mist of shining water. She wasn’t even looking for love, but it found her, right there in the produce section, Muzak providing the soundtrack. The pale green leaves glowing like harbingers of better things to come. Even the name Iceberg filled her with a sense of wonder, of hope for new and exciting adventures. She reached forward slowly but another hand was faster and as she watched the lettuce leave her, cradled in the arms of another, she tried to convince herself it was for the best. Her mother certainly wouldn’t have approved and what would they have raised their children as, people or produce? The lettuce probably would have let her down like so many others, staying out late with friends and not even texting. But no, try as she might to convince herself otherwise, heartbreak still found her, right there in the produce section.
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HUMANS Poem by James McDer mott Illu stration by Mar tha Bräuer
sat in the quiet pub waiting for him to get the drinks at another table when their girlfriends have gone to the toilet I see him drape his arm over his mate’s shoulder and then stroke his friend’s face not sexual not romantic affectionate and thinking they don’t have an audience so don’t have to act natural and play the parts of men on the seventies sitcom set that is this pub masculinities slip they don’t make a joke about the stroke like men but they smile at one another like humans
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AUBADE Poem by Madison R ahner Illu stration by Zach Meyer
If I weren’t a morning person, I think I’d like you better. If I could sleep—not lie waiting for your heavy eyes to blink awake, for you to pull your covers taut. Golden light drips off blinds, shifting the sundrawn topography lines across your sheets. You breathe soft snores to my throat, hold your thumb, middle finger, to my chin and the crease beneath my earlobe like we have been caught in the sameness of dreams. I want to part with a half-conscious kiss goodbye and blot my panties dry, but I wait ’til you start awake with groping hands—your tongue’s delight, hungry for this morning’s taste of last night.
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Popshot is a beautifully illustrated quarterly magazine showcasing imaginative short stories, flash fiction and poetry by the best new writers. The Intimacy Issue is a collection of vivid writing about human connection. Providing a window into other people’s sex lives, comic observations of intimacy, and sharp moments of missed affection, it also includes a short story by Daisy Johnson.
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SPRING 2021