Lee Nash lives in France and freelances as an editor and proofreader. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in print and online journals in the UK, the US and France, including Ambit, Angle, Ink Sweat and Tears, Mezzo Cammin, Orbis, Poetry Salzburg Review, Presence, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, The Interpreter’s House, The Lake and The World Haiku Review. You can find a selection of Lee’s poems on her website: leenashpoetry.com.
My number’s in an iPhone next to a straw pillow on a massively hard bed next to a bedside table that holds an inch of vodka in a bottle bought from Helsinki Airport lounge, beside a packet of Chinese herbs and a ridiculously thick paperback; in a hotel in a province the name of which I can’t pronounce where the food is nitrate hot and its morsels unidentifiable; behind the table, a window; outside the light has faded and if the crew hadn’t all clocked off they could create their own, and there on that phone is logged the duration of our dialogue which went something like, Do you want to fall in love? and that Cage is not an asshole and that in the morning you’ll have to fire the producer despite your jetlagged head, and here it is on my phone too, just a basic device in an unpretentious living space in a totally undramatic life despite the fact that I’m a cast of thousands.