Just Don’t Call Me Bitter

I graduated from a top performing arts school a few years ago. More years ago than I care to admit, not having the type or quantity of work behind me that I’d perhaps like. My main excuse is that my time at the school was not at all what I expected. It ruined me. Mentally…

A Museum

Their ghosts press in on me, still screaming demanding they be heard. They press with the weight of 1362 feet of steel. They refuse to be ignored I must know their weight and carry it though I know none of them they are not my kinsmen. Yet I strain to listen and bear their weight I…

Laudromat

We jumped (tumbled, wandered) into the rain, down the stoop onto the sodium-lit street. We had a direction in mind, so ran, huddled, laughed our way, until, whilst taking brief shelter under a small awning, we were intrigued by a group of people outside a laundromat. A closed, darkened laudromat at 11pm (was it 11?…

Moment Lab

All these words come toward me through clasped hands and eager eyes tightly shut. I am water, a river, flowing fast, steady, confident, light, heavy forward and large, blue a field sun but without that sunset sunlight. Hands touch softly I’m arrested pinned and see-through hesitant now open, an energy, a furrowed brow a cautious…

Night in a Brooklyn Apartment

I have experienced profound happiness in a street-lit room, dark, red, yellow, voices outside, sirens and music, bangs, traffic the room filled with summer warmth, a lover far away and fire within my heart beat pulses a smile to my lips which spreads and breathes in the night a heavy happiness weighing me to my…

Sunday

A saxophone plays in Central Park, New York City. A warm breeze blows like an armistice over boulders and across wild grass, carrying birdsong – one among myriad languages that pop and fizz around street vendors beneath their umbrellas. A mustard and ketchup smile spreads over my face. Everyone is themselves, And I am me, And…

Saturday Evening, New York

I sat on the rooftop at sunset, Upbeat Latin music beating on smooth stucco, infused with traffic’s white noise The curious smell of meat and fire, of warm brick and city and everything that lies below. Beyond I see others, other rooftops, other lives. Left furniture and second thoughts in gardens. Perhaps they have drinks…

First Thoughts of Merica

It’s true what they say: everthing IS bigger. The customs queues and process in general, the bathrooms that really ought to be implemented in Australia so us women could comfortably hold our group club-toilet meetings, the buildings, the journeys, the options, the prices, the heat, the smells… Except for the people. They’re the same. The…