Poetry

guts and gutters

Things that fall out of people’s purses call out to me, imploring to be returned to what they are (not done being), what they’re made for, who they used to be with.

7 May 2019
Aftermath

I believe in some hour threaded through all the years where you still kiss my face of lemon rind and rough hessian, boulder-wide, fish-scaled, round as a copper coin.

十二秒记忆飞逝

Ascending sixty meters to a chimney top, touched the falling dusk. The cold sticky tongue of growling factories behind you.

Paint to Poetry: Rise and Shine

Sarah plays on the association of colours and words to write her poetry column for Farrago, using Taubman’s paint samples from Bunnings.

conditioning

wear the sun as a face mask,
as in what everyone else is doing,
but also do what you have to,
as in put what you are asked to do first

3 April 2019
Waialua

Tide coming in, sun coming out. Rotten coconut skull cracked open on the clay earth. Scarf off jacket off, thin layers of fabric revealing inky skin. Snake tattoo looks like he’s swimming through yesterday’s shells.

Old Bath

This is a Cornetto moment,
w/ all the flicked pip mandarins,
& pregnant bellies being rubbed,
under ice-cream umbrellas

Milk Caps

The bottom was still scarred with rust, I tried to pick it off with my finger-nails like the skin
Left over from a
Popped pimple

Slug.

They do not see me and I am twelve when I creep into the top corner of the kitchen. I watch them pour tea and drop spoons for years and now I am giggling.

Good Whore // Bad Whore

I have stroked their egos, dressed up for them, painted my face for them (((FOR FREE))) for far too long. Only now, in this employment, am I rewarded for my efforts. Only now am I compensated for the endless, thankless task of Making Men Feel Good.
My only question is: where’s my goddamn backpay?

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