Eventually, someone you love will stop loving you. You can only imagine what will happen next. You will stand with your back against the wall in an empty room. Sliding down the wall. Sliding down until you are folded like a mirror of the letter N: your back a stem, your thighs a stroke, … Continue reading
H had a small, strong body and a pixie haircut. Wisps of gold on the back of their neck, on their cheeks. I met H at their home in the low hills out the back of the Gold Coast when I was a uni student. We went there to trade our labour … Continue reading
The woman in the plane seat next to me looks uncomfortable. She has the kind of short, sparse hairstyle I associate with those receiving chemotherapy, or living in a concentration camp. I can see the paleness of her barely-protected scalp. She is wearing orthopaedic shoes and has a large, well-filled … Continue reading
The architect comes into my office smiling, a woven basket on her arm. Greenery – wild and fragrant – spills from the basket. It is a hot day, and she sinks gratefully into the spare chair in my office. I should be clear and say that she is no longer … Continue reading
I spent Christmas night sleeping on the floor beside the guest bed in our friends’ home. At one point, in my sleep, I rolled towards the bed – towards you – and must have bumped it. You woke in a sleepy rage. Unwilling to hiss or roar in someone else’s … Continue reading
The story I am writing about you takes place during your fall. It begins at the top of that building in Manhattan, when you step off the roof, and ends when you reach the sidewalk. It begins with a recitation, and ends in silence. After your death, I fell silent. … Continue reading
The thing is, I was always afraid of leaving you. Do you remember the story about Lot’s wife, leaving Sodom? The angels took her and her daughters by the hand. They led them out of the city, towards the hills. She would have been safe if she hadn’t turned back. It … Continue reading
Today’s contribution comes from Carla Billinghurst. I first met Carla about … oooh … well, I know it was before the apocalypse. She’s a smart, funny, and inspiring writer. You can find her online at Carla Billinghurst.com, or follow her on FaceBook. If you are in the Blue Mountains in … Continue reading
I am interested in usable truths. I am interested in food I can eat, water I can drink, and stories I can tell. I am interested in doorways and roads: leading in, leading out. I am interested in stones, particularly the stones that mark the path we must walk tonight. My mother … Continue reading
After lunch, we wander along the foreshore of the lake. There’s a raised wooden path, shaded and cool. As we walk, she tells we how the lake formed. ‘Where the lake is now,’ she says, ‘used to a great valley full of trees. The local people used to come here … Continue reading