Fiction    Reading Room    Memoir    Interview

Lot 165

No one has come to look at my teeth.
Flies licking the weep of my waxy lashes.
‘Draft horses are cathedrals, quiet fortresses.
Dependable characters,’ the grandmother huffed,
settling on her heavy legs. She felt my tendons.
Her perm from the Swan Lake Hair Salon.
To her floral blouse, matching pleated skirt
I appealed, I tried not to creak.
‘I was a white horse of the Red Guards of Senegal’
I cried, ‘We rode from the region of Timbuktu
to the distant lands of Chad.’
Oh, my men had faces black-black, my Arab-Barbs;
my men combed out my long white mane,
braided fly sweeps for my eyes
in the night against the purpling palms.
Insect nights, whispers clean and sharp.
‘Glory days,’ she said, ‘you should not believe in such.
You are old, make way for the finite.’
She was looking for heart room, I breathed out dark red air.
She could carry me in her arms.
She could bed me down in straw.
I’m near to my knees, pleading.
No one knows what it is to spend the day
alone on the stand of oneself.
Johanna Aitchison
Michele Amas
Angela Andrews
Sarah Barnett
David Beach
Ken Bolton
Jenny Bornholdt
Rachel Bush
Mary Cresswell
Stephanie De Montalk
Cliff Fell
Tom Fitzsimons
Brian Flaherty
David Geary
Bernadette Hall
Kerry Hines
Andrew Johnston
Therese Lloyd
Iggy McGovern
Mary Macpherson
Dora Malech
Vana Manasiadis
Emma Neale
Gregory O'Brien
Lucy Orbell
Zach Savich
Charlotte Simmonds
Marty Smith  
Elizabeth Smither
Abby Stewart
Robert Sullivan
Jo Thorpe
Cath Vidler
Louise Wallace
Ashleigh Young

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