finally, the child is asleep.
the evening sky itself is almost white with fatigue.
it’s so warm that nobody’s out,
and soon i will gaze
over the quiet city streets.
where is the woman
to taste my skin?
perhaps i know her already,
or maybe she is as distant as winter.
well, every bird sings first for itself.
Matt Hetherington (Australia)
An independent poetry journal. Watch your step.
2015/07/19
Parable
all the silken night
i lay in my warm bed,
and like a god
i made my little movies,
some even with the most perfect
music.
everything i wished for, i had.
and now a cold new morning is banging on the door.
Matt Hetherington (Australia)
i lay in my warm bed,
and like a god
i made my little movies,
some even with the most perfect
music.
everything i wished for, i had.
and now a cold new morning is banging on the door.
Matt Hetherington (Australia)
Morning, Partly Cloudy
every day waking is as slow as dawn
and questions hurt like the word ‘touch’
spread the honey evenly over the toast
the light is thin like an old man’s skin
and even my eyes are turning grey
every day waking is as slow as dawn
some of our romances end in rainbows
we are but a membrane
spread the honey evenly over the toast
i wrap my arms around myself
the comfort of this sole nocturnal sun
every day waking is as slow as dawn
attempting to recall all the things to forget
chatting in the face of the ravenous millions
spread the honey evenly over the toast
you’ll never see beyond your mirror
when the darkness makes you close your eyes
every day waking is as slow as dawn
spread the honey evenly over the toast
Matt Hetherington (Australia)
and questions hurt like the word ‘touch’
spread the honey evenly over the toast
the light is thin like an old man’s skin
and even my eyes are turning grey
every day waking is as slow as dawn
some of our romances end in rainbows
we are but a membrane
spread the honey evenly over the toast
i wrap my arms around myself
the comfort of this sole nocturnal sun
every day waking is as slow as dawn
attempting to recall all the things to forget
chatting in the face of the ravenous millions
spread the honey evenly over the toast
you’ll never see beyond your mirror
when the darkness makes you close your eyes
every day waking is as slow as dawn
spread the honey evenly over the toast
Matt Hetherington (Australia)
Post-partum
(for Brett)
the baby breathes easily
the air in the glass box
he wants both nipples at once
but must come to rest with rubber
his brother also shares a little
in this taste of near-containment
somehow their mother has managed
to save them both for life
Matt Hetherington (Australia)
the baby breathes easily
the air in the glass box
he wants both nipples at once
but must come to rest with rubber
his brother also shares a little
in this taste of near-containment
somehow their mother has managed
to save them both for life
Matt Hetherington (Australia)
2015/07/01
unmistaken identity
it’s like having neighbours without curtains
making love with the light on
across the narrow strip of back yard
outside the kitchen window
washing late night dishes
except it’s twentyfour seven
and loveless
a hole in the wall of the world
showing you almost everything
and once in a while
between press releases and sporting adventures
celebrity poses and lifestyle changes
current events and ongoing dramas
some stranger’s mortality
spat in your face
like a passerby’s curse
it’s a streetcorner of some distant suburb
whose name you didn’t quite catch
nowhere you’ve ever been
a stumble in the dance of traffic
a knot of broken metal and a death
no one you ever met
the news reader informs us the police
have not released the dead rider’s name
but somebody knows that bike
Span (South Australia)
making love with the light on
across the narrow strip of back yard
outside the kitchen window
washing late night dishes
except it’s twentyfour seven
and loveless
a hole in the wall of the world
showing you almost everything
and once in a while
between press releases and sporting adventures
celebrity poses and lifestyle changes
current events and ongoing dramas
some stranger’s mortality
spat in your face
like a passerby’s curse
it’s a streetcorner of some distant suburb
whose name you didn’t quite catch
nowhere you’ve ever been
a stumble in the dance of traffic
a knot of broken metal and a death
no one you ever met
the news reader informs us the police
have not released the dead rider’s name
but somebody knows that bike
Span (South Australia)
2015/06/21
How I spent my 18th year
After I leave acting school (drop-out)
I take a job as Operations Manager at an electronics store
and start rehearsing how to be normal. I grow
my hair and nails out and learn the difference
between ash and honey-blonde highlights. I fall for
the floor manager who is 15 years older than me
and once was a trainee for the NBL but he rebelled
to go to the beach one too many times. He said he
got a spiritual connection to the sand, man,
that he measured in wrist bands from Bali
and his tan. He might go back to basketball
sometime, but his life philosophy is take it one
day at a time, like the surf, it comes and then it goes,
it flows, I flow, you know? So day after day
I print price stickers, re-label computers, I get
manicures with the cashiers and adopt
their wisdom never get both gel tips and colours;
only girls from the northern suburbs would wear
two different animal prints; 5-inch heels are sexy,
6 inches is slutty. When we go out for Friday drinks
with the kids from the Carrington store I drink
Jaeger Bombs until I’m ready to stand in a circle
and come on Eileen, oh I swear (what he means)
then its midnight and I go back to the floor manager's
to sit and smoke and he plays Red Hot Chilli Peppers
and ‘Under the bridge’ was written for me, when I listen
it’s like I’m listening to myself. When I wake up
there’s permanent marker on my legs, an arrow
pointing enter here, and we laugh. No-one
ever asks why I left acting school, but if they did
I would tell them I never wanted to be on the stage
I only ever wanted the taste of other people’s
words in my mouth. Something to chew.
Caitlin Maling (Western Australia)
From Conversations I've never had (Fremantle Press 2015)
I take a job as Operations Manager at an electronics store
and start rehearsing how to be normal. I grow
my hair and nails out and learn the difference
between ash and honey-blonde highlights. I fall for
the floor manager who is 15 years older than me
and once was a trainee for the NBL but he rebelled
to go to the beach one too many times. He said he
got a spiritual connection to the sand, man,
that he measured in wrist bands from Bali
and his tan. He might go back to basketball
sometime, but his life philosophy is take it one
day at a time, like the surf, it comes and then it goes,
it flows, I flow, you know? So day after day
I print price stickers, re-label computers, I get
manicures with the cashiers and adopt
their wisdom never get both gel tips and colours;
only girls from the northern suburbs would wear
two different animal prints; 5-inch heels are sexy,
6 inches is slutty. When we go out for Friday drinks
with the kids from the Carrington store I drink
Jaeger Bombs until I’m ready to stand in a circle
and come on Eileen, oh I swear (what he means)
then its midnight and I go back to the floor manager's
to sit and smoke and he plays Red Hot Chilli Peppers
and ‘Under the bridge’ was written for me, when I listen
it’s like I’m listening to myself. When I wake up
there’s permanent marker on my legs, an arrow
pointing enter here, and we laugh. No-one
ever asks why I left acting school, but if they did
I would tell them I never wanted to be on the stage
I only ever wanted the taste of other people’s
words in my mouth. Something to chew.
Caitlin Maling (Western Australia)
From Conversations I've never had (Fremantle Press 2015)
Asphodel
When I think we girls,
I think Summer of the Seventeenth Doll. Our summer,
when we caught the train back from playing pool
with the US sailors in port
and I fell asleep on your lap
the sailor hat I’d earned wedged on.
Back home, you have that hat with all our treasures lined up,
like the kewpie dolls Roo would bring Olive
back from the canefields.
I remember being in Innisfail after Larry†,
the thicket of palm leaves and sugar cane capturing the road
and on the TV that night a man crying, dead bananas at his feet:
me Dad started this farm and now me sons wont be able to work it.
And I wish someone had taught me
to hide photographs in bottom drawers,
a lock of hair under my pillow. The three of us
kept ours in different colours — red, blonde and black —
us pretty girls all in a row.
Where I live now, bananas cost 70 cents a pound.
I have no way to explain how precious they are.
Caitlin Maling (Western Australia)
From Conversations I've never had (Fremantle Press 2015)
† Severe Tropical Cyclone Larry, Queensland, 2006
I think Summer of the Seventeenth Doll. Our summer,
when we caught the train back from playing pool
with the US sailors in port
and I fell asleep on your lap
the sailor hat I’d earned wedged on.
Back home, you have that hat with all our treasures lined up,
like the kewpie dolls Roo would bring Olive
back from the canefields.
I remember being in Innisfail after Larry†,
the thicket of palm leaves and sugar cane capturing the road
and on the TV that night a man crying, dead bananas at his feet:
me Dad started this farm and now me sons wont be able to work it.
And I wish someone had taught me
to hide photographs in bottom drawers,
a lock of hair under my pillow. The three of us
kept ours in different colours — red, blonde and black —
us pretty girls all in a row.
Where I live now, bananas cost 70 cents a pound.
I have no way to explain how precious they are.
Caitlin Maling (Western Australia)
From Conversations I've never had (Fremantle Press 2015)
† Severe Tropical Cyclone Larry, Queensland, 2006
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