Today I picked an orange from my backyard tree. The orange was sour. Picked too soon I suppose. Last time you were here the oranges were little green balls like those that hang on Christmas Trees or from the ears of your friend who wore that black dinner dress.Continue reading “Valencia by Banjo Weatherald”
Red, scaly, hard as pebbles, knuckles like bolts. Cora’s hands bore the legacy of her working life: bleach, hot water, furniture wax, polishing rags. Her thick fingers, capped with stubby cracked nails, gripped the brush in the glare of the art class lights.Continue reading “First Quarter by Susan McCreery”
‘I carry little equipment. Taking three giant steps forward is quicker and less intrusive than screwing on a telephoto lens,’ Diane Arbus told fellow wildlife photographers. She showed little interest in rows of Australian night parrots preserved in drawers at the Australian Museum, ‘like on a contact sheet.’Continue reading “American photographer fails to snap Australian night parrot by Julie Chevalier”
I get my first view of the sun just as it’s about to go down. Fitzroy Street in the daytime isn’t the right place for the likes of us. Night time makes more sense around here. Baz and me and the boys. Baz’ll have his platforms on.Continue reading “1975: Glam rockers on the prowl by Richard Holt”
Where are her eyebrows?
What? said Graham.
Her eyebrows. She’s hairless.
I’ve never noticed.Continue reading “Mona Lisa by Susan McCreery”
It was neap tide – a low high tide, a complicated idea. Sun, earth, moon at right angles, gravity’s dance out of whack. How had the first mapper of the moon, the one before the two Jesuits, described the Earth? The sublunar world. Two worlds facing each other, land masses mirrored back: one unchanged, one that churned and boiled and froze.Continue reading “Midnight in Mozambique by Ceridwen Dovey”
a small painting of marquis lodovico’s daughter dorotea sent from mantua by courier to be inspected by her would-be spanish groomContinue reading “marriage of convenience by Julie Chevalier”
Another red light. He palms his chin, taps the steering wheel.
Sport-plus-shopping traffic. Next to him his wife is silent. What
a way to spend Saturday morning, stuck in the car with her in a
mood. His head hurts from last night.
Falls of fruit in the garden, and morning’s triangular shadow,
catching the house. Yachts like postage stamps on a blue
envelope; your gestures smoothing them.
One morning, a story appears in the ‘In Brief’ column of the newspaper that is published every day except Sundays. The subheading reads, like a chapter title from a children’s book of mysteries, ‘The First Ocean’. An African source reports that a young man has begun (to coin a phrase) ‘the swim of a lifetime to Australia.’Continue reading “In Brief by Patrick West”