H. K. G. Lowery is a writer from Newcastle upon Tyne. He graduated from Lancaster University with a MA in Creative Writing (Distinction) where he was honoured to win the 2021/2022 Portfolio Prize for his work which received the highest mark in the faculty. Lowery has also been published in Poetry Salzburg, Amsterdam Quarterly and Hyacinth Review.

Departures

losing CO2 in the Jet2 queue,
staining Carhartt with heartache, 
barcodes beep & promises pall

between staff & sightseers 
& parents cheering up children 
& new lovers arriving
chinos & eyes empty
into a grey tray, passing 
Saint Peter with an automatic 
& cutting through pictureless clouds
to arrivals, you were waiting,
& you opened your arms, like wings

Ashes

you knew from her fourteen missed calls –
gut churning from fourteen Moretti, heavy
heartbeats hitting chest, hissing at screenlight
to unlock Mam until you heard each word – 
“his eyes said, ‘I’ve had enough,’” 
death blurred the Ibis wood, the door 
you knelt before, your throat swollen 
with his sleep in York – Dad’s manspeak   
hid the hangover & hollow
on changed trains, Leeds to Lancaster:
the way the sun shone over Long Preston, 
the way you feel lost after loss,
a beach, Hard to Find, windows – 
then one Saturday, cradling urn,
footprints eclipsed other pawprints
to the surf, & sighing speech 
you spread his ashes at his favourite place, 
watching them wash away in the waves 

Villa Diodati

like a leaf, you were ambered,
acquiescent, ambling the grounds – 
gravel crunched with Converse 
& a tableaux daydream: 
Byron sailing, or the Shelleys 
in love – & then, the villa doors 
unveiled untouched antiques
& portraits eyeing every word 
like the porcelain it was spoken over – 
& sobering outside, ringtones 
revealed Omicron will part you,
for months or more, before
the sun left for another city,
& the stars began to emerge
with the shyness of spiders