izzy

handing a person a pulpy mass and asking them to love it is an easy thing to do
spotting Australians at a music festival in Barcelona is an easy thing to do
RM Williams and a nasal twang and pockets filled with nangs

‘where ya from mayte?’ ‘Melbourne!’ ‘no wayyy!’
and the world contracts and the world contracts
and their pupils are still taking it all in

because they know they are crystal coated
they know they sparkle like raw diamonds
they know the fucked up gem inside you

is always brighter than it first looks
and we’re full of broken bones
but you know we are still beautiful

*

sarah

In the dark of the woods where I had long lost my way
I came upon a man lying felled across the path
Like a great white tree, his hair tangled with moss
And two old grey coins pressed into his eyes
I asked him the way home, but his mouth was full of fog
So he cleared a patch at his side, and bade me come lie there
And pressed against the cold wide bulk of his chest
I saw many a strange and wild thing –
The earth made anew, with fish gasping their life out
As the rivers streamed down the land into the sea
Trees staggering like men across wind-whipped wide fields
Their steps growing slower until their roots chained them down
The sun tearing out of its parabola path
And coming to inspect a bushfire’s spread
Women bubbling out of the mud and the clay
With their squalling new charges latched onto their breasts
How long I lay there I could not guess
When I opened my eyes, the man had long gone
The wind howled triumphantly over the mountains
I sat silent and still, in a world made unknown

*

izzy

the press of air against lungs,
pushing down on ribs, rough
like a lover

eight strong arms pry open
this metal canister, this
tin can telephone

held aloft, you could be forgiven
for thinking this body
is floating

sun glinting in eyes already on fire
back at a safe distance
escaping conversation

what is the heaviest thing you can hold?
imagine that heavy thing
imagine your body as that heavy thing

and you just a small pilot
trying to learn how to steer these limbs
like moving through water

*

sarah

You need to understand that I hate your footfall
Because it fills me with fear
Filling the echoing spaces between car tires and tree leaves
That even though I know the weight of your breath
I still terror
Drunk
Feet
These are my boots and they fall into me
That shine at the toes
That shine at the how how how whoh wo
I fear fearf ear ear
How you
Drunk how how how howh oarhgalkgja
This is the ewya that the thaings thatches tunto tme the ht way that my fingesr fbleed at the page the a’ldiguthe the adhgidhat the rain thrain the other thain rain sht ehtoaidn gthe the agoeet hahd the aldkjoiaue
I can’t even know thow thehd;akdkthe we let our igners d the talking and thene thwe tfeahr the bwrods tha ti our eovice swant sht ott he say tea;lksdjtihga;kajdjagflkjjkjtheihawkjfTHe rain thsia’weit

*

izzy

standing on top of a small waterfall, breathing
coming down on you like a pressurised heartbeat
falling and standing tall all at once
this flow like thunder

lush green hills and the smell of dynamic lifter
contemplate the permanence of a park rubbish bin
taking selfies in front of a toy town panorama
break the light with a fist

*

sarah

It is an unlovely thing, this life of mine
A spider takes no sweethearts, takes no friends
Swoons for nothing but her crystalline web
But what a lover is the night
The crisp cold wind, the earth turning over
The heartbeat percussion of the chattering bugs
And above it all, the sweet white moon
Singing her arias to the clap-a-long stars

*

izzy

the constant rubber thuck of a basketball
the court caught in the centre of a grand old bandstand
amplified sounds of children on screaming swings, on see-saws
gibbous moon rising, clashing orange against electric blue

there’s a dog barking, equal measures panicked and joyous
like it’s searching for something and keeps thinking it’s found it

teenagers enacting a complicated ritual of unnameable affection
limpid arms flapping in the wind, necks angled taut toward each other
she walks to the sea, he turns back to the court
get your head in the game, get your head in the game

in the corner, an empty electric chair languishes beneath a tree
a crumpled man walking upright and tall, back and forth
back and forth on the support bars for hours

*

sarah

He never knew til now that fire could bellow. Never knew how wet the water in him could feel. He watched a bead of sweat, or a tear, rattle down his nose and quiver for a moment at the brink. Throw itself onto the flat steel in his fist and slink out of sight. Coward, he thought, coward. Come back here and fight. There are a thousand more like you still to be carved out of these eyes.

*

izzy

watching the graceless curve of adolescent bodies bending into one another
taut, tensed and aware they swivel 320 degrees in every direction at once
checking to see if they’re being watched, but not quite aware
what impact their actions would have on the watcher

skins too big for their rubber bounce-back bones
floundering inside loose bodies
trying to find a way to stand that will fit

over-attentive boyfriend, arms like a vice around her waist
every lapse in conversation marked
with a smattering of lip stains across pale cheeks

trailing silver threads, searching for a mouth she might finally offer
the circle presses in, all friends here, all bodies one body
a mass that moves with fluorescent confidence and sweet kicks swagger
wrists clutching in monkey grip although no one is falling
dark circles under both their eyes.

*

sarah

The crossing lights are clicking like a drunk crowd at a poetry slam
Slow and languid and totally out of time
Until the lights change, and this is the groove, man!
Applauding fervently, furiously, energizer bunny fast!
Til the colours tick over, and it’s back to the limp-fingered cigarette snaps

*

izzy

When I was small, I believed I could bring things back to life. If I just tried hard enough, if I poured enough love towards something, I could bring back the spark of life. I had evidence to support this. I would fish drowned bees out of the swimming pool and cup them in my hands, cocooning them in the warm dark space between my bony fingers, whispering through the cracks, envisaging them flying through huge forests of dandelions and daisies filled with pollen my face salty and wet as I peered in to see if they would rise. They did. This worked with all kinds of small animals. I’ve saved baby birds, sick birds, skinks and all manner of insects. Standing in the mineral blue of the mediterranean watching small fish shimmer in the shallows, I’m reminded of the fish I couldn’t save. The tiny bait fish I found at the bottom of a fishing boat. Convinced it was still alive, or could be saved, I put it back in the water, again and again, held its little body in my hands and tried to find a spark in its glassy eyes. The fish darting through the water here are sand coloured and barely make a shadow. Little sea ghosts made of light and air. The swell of sea lapping at my ankles now reminds me of the day the ocean fell on me. The day you ceased. Garbled sounds of speaking underwater, and the slow push against the water’s resistance as I tried to walk on the ocean floor.

*

sarah

Banana eating for beginners:

Step one: Stand in front of your shelf in the pantry and try to will some sort of packaged snackfood to appear.

Step two: Upon failure of packaged snackfood to appear, notice solitary banana. Wonder how long banana has been there. Inspect banana for squishiness or blackness. Decide that banana is edible.

Step three: Open banana from the stem end. Immediately reminder Buzzfeed article explaining that this is the WRONG way to open a banana, and that monkeys know that, and that you’ve been doing it incorrectly all your life and god, how could you be so stupid, you are less intelligent than a monkey when it comes to banana opening (although possibly more intelligent in the realm of crossword puzzles).

Step four: Raise banana to lips. Immediately think of cocks. Almost as immediately feel a sort of feminist disappointment at yourself for thinking of cocks. Get into a confusing sort of out-of-body perve experience with yourself, where one half of you is thinking ‘Yeah, put it in your mouth’ and the other half of you just wants to eat a goddamn banana. Wonder whether this is you internalizing the male gaze.

Step five: Find a stringy bit of banana peel on the banana. Think back to the Buzzfeed article explaining about how this wouldn’t happen if you opened a banana properly.

Step six: Register that this banana is not particularly ripe. Marvel at how this banana could possibly be unripe, given that it has been sitting in the pantry for at least a week. Consider the fact that bananas are good at ripening other food. Wonder whether you need two bananas working in tandem to ripen each other.

Step seven: Discard banana peel into compost bin. Feel mildly smug about compost bin. Hold banana in left hand. Think about cocks again. Wonder how much banana porn exists. Imagine a montage of the places it would be possible to insert a banana. Feel mildly unwell. Finish banana. Wallow in existential dread.

*

izzy

Bright white light flooding the room and I’m sitting up in bed like a stunned roo waiting for the bullet. It’s 4am and as dark as it gets outside, that milky shade of blue – not bright enough to have my eyes squinting like two wretched asterisks. A hand. An outstretched palm, to be precise. This floodlight is some freaky shit. I follow the palm up to an arm clad in white robes and find a face framed with white light, grinning. An amused expression plays over sharp, androgynous features and wide, white eyes, tight black curls spilling foppishly over a soft, dark brow. I take the hand. I lean in, and I run my tongue all the way up this angel’s outstretched arm. I had expected it to taste like fog, like a fresh mist, but it’s unmistakeable. Eating a Reese’s cup is like giving an angel a hug with your tastebuds, and licking an angel is just like eating a Reese’s cup.

*

sarah

Look, I – look. This isn’t how I – look. You were – you are – I’ve never been good at this. Suffice it to say that when I look at you, I stop feeling like I’m going to throw up. And for me, that’s – that’s kind of a big deal.

*

izzy

my heart is beating like an outer suburbs doof
falling asleep imagining myself as a superhero
I have to close 10 pairs of eyes before sleep

*

sarah

You got eyes like a diamond mine, girl.
How many men have died trying to dig out some of that shine?

*

izzy

what happens when a person becomes a waterfall?
collapsing or cascading with continuous force
a wall of water breaking the surface tension
folding into itself and pushing on to the next thing

I want to feel the salt and weight of you
the jumping salmon swim of you
the rocks that hold the steady flow
and the leaf-boats teetering at the edge

*

sarah

Look, it’s baked beans or it’s nothing, kiddo. I know they make your belly all big and I know we’ll both be farting like a jazz band but it’s all we got right now. How about this, then? Let’s pretend they’re whatever you want them to be. What you reckon? You can pick any food in the world and we’ll make believe it’s that. Caviar? Don’t rightly know what that tastes like, bub, but it sure is fancy. Pink, I reckon. Pink like a Barbie Dream House. Yeah, that’s right, we’ll eat our pink caviar out of our golden bowls. Real fancy. Real classy, like on the telly. Like all those all time movies with the beautiful ladies in puffy dresses and the men in coats with the split in the back. Would you look at all this caviar? This right here is five hundred dollars worth of caviar. How much, you say? Twenty-million hundred worth? Well, gosh, you’re right, this is a treat! Hoo boy, I hope we can have caviar again some time! You don’t? I know. I know, kiddo. But we’re the best at pretending. We’re the number one pretenders in the whole world. And one day, you know what? Your old dad is going to buy you so much caviar you won’t be able to eat it all. You’ll have a fat old baked bean belly from all the caviar in your little tum. Just you wait and see. Just you wait.

*

izzy

the old men scat and doo-wap as they lie sunbaking on the shingle
pot bellies sagging and grinning from decades of mangare
even the word is round and full, flavoured with ripe tomato and vino rosso
banana hammocks or budgie smugglers, spraying themselves with oil
like, seriously amazing tans – like, how do they even do it?
pockets full of rocks that are actually fragments of tile,
approximately half the pebbles here are actually smoothed bits of glass
debris that has been smoothed, crashed and rolled against stone
flick water over shoulders and let a cheeky droplet run between the blades
do they do it on purpose? save up the broken bits for this?
keep the pieces when someone breaks a glass, a bottle, a plate
then carry it to the sea and release it to the waves?

*

sarah

Guys, can we take a second to consider how truly outrageous reproduction is?
I mean, the dude PEES in the chick’s STOMACH and then she grows a PERSON who gets magically BIGGER without anyone having to DO ANYTHING.
I mean, that is INSANE.
That is TOTALLY UNBELIEVABLE, and yes, I mean that literally.
And that is why the school has declined to offer sex ed as part of the syllabus.
Because the whole thing is clearly a government conspiracy cover-up story.
We’re going to get to the bottom of this (now Jimmy, that’s enough, it’s not funny).
We’ve been lied to for too long, and somebody’s got to take a stand, and that somebody is Saint Sybil’s Primary School for Boys (and now, Girls! 1963 – present)!
We will know the truth, children.
And we will not rest until we do.
Also, Taco Tuesday has been cancelled due to Alfie Ferguson’s “kidney bean allergy.” I know you’ve all been looking forward to this for weeks (frankly, we all have), but let’s try not to take it out on Alfie and his truly ridiculous purported “allergy” (which just quietly, was probably invented by his mother to get back at the school for the D minus her son received in Home Economics).
Now, let’s sing the school song.

*