i. We, our family—Joe, baby, kelpie, me—live on the rain-wrestling smudges to Sydney’s west,Gundungurra and Dharug country Our house, a sweaty pram push from Gargaree,that sacred gully stamped with a mile-long loop of racing bitumen Our kelpie likes to run the loop, mark greens creeping up to light dystopian cracks,chase squawky boys circling:sulphur-crested snow flurries that drift…
It was the year of the caved-in ceiling.Water ran through everything and brought down the attic with it.Everyone was sure that the rain would have to stop one of these days,and still it sluiced down, right through the roofand the duvetsand finally into the carpetleaving a dark smell that never left and a stainso symmetrical…
whanganui, ōtepoti, whakatū,i kite tātou i a Witi,me āna kōrero,āna waiata,āna paki. whanganui, ōtepoti, whakatū,i kite tātou i a Witi,tēnei tōtara haematame tana pōtae kōhure,tana koti parāone,tāna memene. tēnei tōtara haematame mārohirohii ngā wā katoa.i mua,i muri:te kaituhi mātāreremō āke tonu atu. [English language ‘translation’ a mōteatea for Witi (Ihimaera) whanganui, dunedin, nelson.we saw…
Help him. Help him, the woman says. I cannot bear it.What happened?He was coming to see me. A tire blew out.A new tire. A steel radial tire. Oh please.Please save my boy. Get him out.But this is a tombstone, I say.It is a grave.Can you not hear him scream? the woman cries.She tears at granite…
I want to believe in miracles I say, spilling sad energy everywhere but all the birds are fighting over wet bread in the parking lot What kind of miracles? You ask, dutifully The kind that escapes like smoke the moment you notice it Leaving the air stuffy with expectation, a shortness of breath And maybe…
Antipode You went to Big Riverand then you went to Mount Emptyand you went to Valladolidand put flowers in the ground. I waited in Newtown.I took my time, not waiting too hard,finished humanity’s smaller projects,crossed off things in a red notebook. But the apocalypse never gained momentum,because you went to Valladolidand put flowers in the…
They are just hedgingtheir bets, these skeletonsdressed in skin, and falsepromiseswho look into your headwith nothing but thecavitieswhere eyes should sit. First they tell you you arethe wasted stamp on adead letter, the flick of ashfrom a menthol cigarette,a droplet of semen fromthe ground beneaththe gallows. Then they say you arethe rattle of matches, astingray’s…
Seal on the field We walked the dog down the roadto the bus stop and started alongthe path to Martin Wilson field.Something barked loudly at us.A dark shape, lying in the bushes.A seal! We called the DOC number.Press 1 for seal sightings. Leave the sealalone and let nature take its course.I took photos on my…
My mate Julie /hurricanes down Worcester Street /cycling for leisure /shouting at men for pleasure /on her way to Alice’s /on her way to play /furious games of Scrabble / My mate Julie likes to argue /with people she has known for years /and when someone has done you wrong /My mate Julie /will remind…
At the top of the stairs mama hums to the beatof the smoke invading the western horizon. An essayistwrites on the commodification of movement, and theradio recites names of planes eaten alive. What are weto do with all this leftover future? In the East, a grandfather sings to the prairiecrocus. Smoke coughs into the breeze,…