The net that presses against your skin, made from thin, steel fibres leaving an imprint only when you push up against it. We have spent most of our lives, unaware …
Category:
Poetry
So this is me here, loving in my kitchen making extra portions, canning jamming, buying too much, returning laden, a strap cutting into my arm cutting, stirring, tasting opening a …
(For Cole Gwinner) Taiga is the name on the matching teal jackets we bought on Christmas Eve so long ago from the Taiga store because it was three p.m. and …
We are both in the queue that says Australian and NZ citizens. You step across the yellow line and glance at the camera while I tentatively put my passport photo …
Imagine, how it bubbles a swamp brewing with broken bubbles how it calms down ripples vanishing under the still starlight a ocean of lotus blooming towards wisdom Changming Yuan, 9-time …
Burning eyes, open wide— I could be you too, despite the tears and eyes as dry as a seahorse on an apothecary table underneath the Chinatown sky. David Ly is …
And then I met him: worshipper of my body down on his knees, his tongue so kind between my thighs. Be my boy for one more night, his tongue insists …
My mother left me a suitcase of sweaters she knitted in mohair, wool, acrylic in blends of burnished ochre bright carmine, sombre blue, sea green. I see her now in …
To see my mother slip away— like witnessing time being reassembled, the missing hands being reattached, the frozen hours and minutes retrieved from the crumbled heap, put back in their …
The boat ran out of water. She stepped out and missed the silkiness of mud between her toes. A homeland flows down cheeks crusted in sea salt. David Ly …