izzy

chardonnay swirling like captured sunlight in mottled hands
rough-cut, wood-hewn hands that built these walls

the sea snuck up through the trees, slipped through the flyscreen
rumbling and rolling now in the depths of your laugh

the tin roof is ticking and the old fridge humming, glass clink
and every roof beam is leaning in closer, listening in

yarns unroll across swept slate floors and threadbare carpets
in the morning the dishes will dry and kookaburra laugh

*

sarah

Got a little splinter in my thumb it seems
Keeps twitching near highways and road trains
Flicking out like it knows just where it’s going
And it’s anywhere but here

*

izzy

two black eyes and the glint of teeth like white fire
grinning friendly and alert and ready for dusk
looking desperate for the dawn, looking
looking for something to grip onto
swallowing night like it ain’t no thang –
cos it ain’t no thing, it’s just an absence
it’s no more than the absence of light
it’s no more than what you let it be
it’s more of a lope than a strut
but I want to believe it’s a strut
bring on the night, bring on the
dark and gaping maw, hold it in
cupped hands of air and shadows
two black eyes and nothing to show for it

*

sarah

Two years on, standing in the bathroom with a bottle of Exit Mould in my right hand
And a catch meandering somewhere in my throat
I finally realised, suddenly, strikingly
That this was a manner of loving that I had never yet encountered
And did not recognize
And had only just begun to understand

*

izzy

my hair’s falling out in tiny fistfuls
little clumps that don’t seem to come from anywhere
is this it? am I finally, truly, my father’s daughter?
am I becoming the son he never had,
inheriting the male pattern baldness gene,
the wide arms, long limbs, heavy eyes
the lines crackling around a breaking smile?
the tulips are falling to pieces too.

*

sarah

They never licked – they roared
Belched into the inky sky
A pyre, a beacon, a sight to behold
And big-eyed families came side-stepping into the street
The red gold light fanning their cheeks
We never do go to mass
But we’ve ravenous for a cataclysm

*