Mandatharra

on the road to the vanishing point
we layered our story
over the Inggarda stories

ice age, crinoids, early
Permian, ancient sea bed,
quartzblow, sandstone
plateau, elevated,
compressed, faulted,
uplifted

on the road of smashed bones
corpses unburied
spat to the side
the road of sliced rubber
we picked up Daniel
his tyre the road’s latest meal
out there on the horizon
heat turns distance to water
and waves
we asked what do you call the blue smudge
map-named for a pastoralist’s wife

in his grandmother’s country
he can’t say
he can’t say
he can’t say the name

on the road to the vanishing point
the road of broken bones and sliced rubber
our tongues strangle names
he can.


Coral Carter (Western Australia)

weeds

supplicant green
tip to eager root/gloved hand

complete

like a slammed door/dead phone/totalled car

weeds spread quietly

while you sleep/stare at weave
in an office partition/wipe dust from a desk phone

on your way by goldfish sunrise
green under bike wheel

weeds stretch wide loop tight
knit into more

in the slide of a month
so many/so many

they begin to look
like they have design
logic
knowing


Alice Allan (Victoria)

Old Song

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)

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)

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)

My Apology

Matt Hetherington (Australia)
First published in Speedpoets

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)

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)