No apology for Liz

Here lies Liz
she’s tired

Here lies Liz
she’s lazy

Here lies Liz
this is fiction

Here lies Liz
truth untenable

Here lies Liz

Here lies Liz
earning her keep

Here lies Liz
unable to get up

Here lies Liz
like roadkill

Here lies Liz
told to keep still

Here lies Liz
too scared to move

Here lies Liz
accommodating a man

Here lies Liz
in silence

Here lies Liz
a snack for wild dogs

Here lies Liz
cold and hog-tied

Here lies Liz
grisly find for joggers

Here lies Liz
aka jane doe

Here lies Liz
on an autopsy slab

Here lies Liz
not donor material

Here lies liz
In bits in bags
weighed, examined,
& here lies Liz
cut and sliced,
& here lies Liz
labelled, numbered

Here lies Liz
dead (assuming she once lived)

Here lies Liz
safer in a long box

Here lies Liz
burning again

Here lies Liz
in the

in a

Kathryn Yuen (New South Wales)


the hush

it's just that, yeah, the hush, the trigonometry
of because, but, no, not always logic but yeah,
art hankers for its hit of white and, yeah,
course, just sluice away, do your forgetting
in private 'cos no, this is a wide road for
thin thinks and, yeah(!), should've done the leaving
of blues to greens to reds, the yoga breathing,

but no, there is no polite retreat here — the
traffic of fraud is in flow and yeah,
absolutely, s'all done with ramps and cuisinere
rods and rote learning and you, yes you with
your good ears and air traffic controlled angst,
no, you can't buy the hiss of liquid nitrogen on
skin, can't buy it, nah, can’t buy the hush

Kevin Gillam (Western Australia)

Last of her Lashes

The last of her lashes falls out,
curved in her palm —
a closed bracket.
When her daughter asks
Where have your eyelashes gone?
She replies They've flown south
for the winter.

Which wig to wear today?
The Angelina Jolie? The Marilyn Monroe?
She picks one with long, flowing tresses,
feels like Lady Godiva.
And as with that famous horsewoman
the crowd look away
the moment she passes by.

She's read the Navajo Indians
never cut their hair
believing their thoughts
preserved in the strands.
She touches her scalp;
like a freshly sown lawn —
a crop of new memories sprouts.

Marianne Musgrove (South Australia)