A Little Bridge
by Alex Josephy
£12 (pub. 2026)

In this diverse collection, bridges appear in many guises. They span gulfs between places, times, and even ways of understanding the world. They may evoke longing for what seems lost or unattainable. Can language itself become a bridge? Always curious, Josephy and the characters who walk beside her are constantly striving to connect. The difficulties and the joys of making links across cultures are interwoven with ventures into worlds beyond human experience. On bridges real and imaginary, the poet makes tentative contact with other inhabitants of Earth. These are poems where nothing can be taken for granted, but Josephy's little bridges hold out hope, celebrating the art of the just about possible.


Praise for A Little Bridge:

“Josphy is generous in offering at least three books' worth of beautiful poetry within this, her third full collection. This is the world of surprise: at once transportive and homely, exotic and humble, sincere and funny. Josephy writes authentically, precisely, with skill and confidence. From an introductory Anglo-Italian mosaic of poetic gems laid with deft hands, to haircuts and fish shop encounters, through to the solitude and sanctuary of the natural world, Josephy does it all with skill and compassion."

Vic Pickup

“How do we move between places, languages, knowing and forgetting, past and present, ways of being, life stages? Alex Josephy gibes us clues and waymarkers in a collection that celebrates both the fragility and the persistence of life. the poems in A Little Bridge are poised and surprising, often playful, at times steeped in a sense of ritual. This is a book to keep at your side."

Clare Best

Endangered

I stole an egg.
Wanted its cool perimeter
where my hand could wander,

without start or finish;
both lay safe
inside, almost visible

through a blue wall, cupped
in the shield
of its curvature.

Heedless, we took them all
egg after egg
for freckled loveliness,

the weight of what
they held, the gentle flop
when you turn one

in your palm.
Little strongrooms,
each one filled

with a viscous sea,
in each a fleck of life
sucking thick yellow light

from its own sun.

(from A Little Bridge)