2023 Calanthe Collective Prize for Unpublished Poetry

A Tangle

We created a tangle on the back deck.
Folded into that last oblong of sun.
My boy, myself, our cosseted dogs,

cushions, legs, books and snouts.
I inhaled a volume of Carol Ann Duffy,
while he perused Drugs, Guns and Lies.

A plethora of words between us,
the glory of their form and scope.
Equal admiration for the variety of limbs,

the grubby toes, the polished ones, the claws.
Already, I was holding this frame as dear,
even while its angles shrank and shifted

as it slunk into the slot of memory,
reserved just for these shards of time,
fashioned together with an earnest son.

His solid core of gratitude and light—
He inclined his thatched head towards mine.
You’ve got such an ugly old foot, he grinned.

And somehow even that pedal derision
melded into something —
delivered to us both in that last oblong of sun.

1.
You go to the grocer.
Get the ALDI bags out of the car, con.
You’re getting the bags and you’re leaving the car and
you’re slitting your throat with the knife in the glove box.
you’re taking your fucking time to get back to her.
You’re embarrassed by her.
There’s barely five customers inside; the owner greets you in a language you don’t understand. You wander the aisles of food that you’re sure your classmates would gag at.

2.
Sit down at the dining table and satisfy the hunger that
Burns loud, deep in your stomach, bubbling up in your throat.
You look down at the bowl of carefully wrapped wontons drowning in broth.
plain, white rice.
Take your time, darling, we’re here for you.
Take our goddamn time, darling, we’ll wait.

3.
Shut up and
sit down and eat your goddamn dinner before I

You look down at the bowl of seafood pancakes.
look at the maggots.
Shovel them into your mouth.

4.
It’ll take a lot more to break you than a boy pulling back his eyes.
But you break anyway.
You fall into a depression. You wallow in the ghost of your
her culture. Because those eyes
belong to a boy that would
kill your family if he could. He would lick the bloody mess of their murder off his fingers like it was ice cream.

5.
Sit down on the porch and
cry like a baby.
But you are a baby.
Bang on the window while they sit inside and laugh drunkenly.
Paint the door with your tears and remember it as the Pacific.
Now
build a boat and put three little girls and a mother on it.
sink the boat.
paint the boat with time and remember it as Guilt.

6.
Sit down.
It wasn’t your fault.
Let your tears crawl down your cheeks; they’re what make you human;
Let your body forgive itself.
Look down at your bowl of memories and cradle them gently,
Hold them close to your chest and
thank them.

Foreclosure

Dust mocks the windows
reminiscent of forgotten rain.
Your fingers thrum, insistent
rhythm leaking onto the bare table.

The paper lies between us,
one edge curled and pinked with jam,
like an unread script, we cannot act
without direction.

You once pattered your fingers on my arm
talked of mobs of ‘roos, Summer rain
on iron roofs. You carried me
in white across the threshold.

Through the window I watch a dark coil
smoke over Stony Ridge.
We’re safe here until
dust can burn - you say.
Ours is a slower end.

Yesterday you trudged over
the thin dark smudge - Spring Creek
where the children learned to swim
you, your father, and those before.

As we left the stock yard I latched the gate
habit of years
while the last dozen head
trailed a plume of dust
over the pass.

Your hand skitters across the paper
your fissured lips form words
I cannot hear.

I recall your stumped thumb
stroking my lips, such sweetness
I hadn’t expected to miss

You raise your eyes to mine
lick your finger and reach
for the pen.
This is it then.

doing I love you

my father’s tears never fell too far from his eyes
a well-kept secret
like catching shade
on a white-hot day
his handkerchief would stop them before
cheeks were aware of their existence
the same cloth he used to

clean his car
mop up blood
smear sweat
wrap around a broken finger
collect glass shards

this colossus of stone and brick-dust coughs
guarded emotions
the way thorns
protect their buds
his fingers; blunt and blackened tools
spoke without words, worked without rest
and so I was taught to

change a tire
walk with keys in my fist
locate fire escapes
watch over nesting birds
untangle leads

something occasional about a hug
recast into clenches from an old man
who finds it hard
to let go
goodbyes without end, his hand
pauses time and lies heavy on my shoulder
together we choose to

fold back memories
take care
listen through spaces
muffle troubled thoughts
do I love you

All of it singing *

It didn't matter the footpath
was concrete
the houses suburban
that all the trees were amputated
and cauterised
That atoms were careless
of what it was
they were executing
Because all at once,
the time it took
to walk
to the Post Office
with a letter in my pocket,
all of it
was singing regardless
of beauty or because
in that moment
everything
was beautiful –
the concrete
and the banal
houses
the letter to my brother
The letter to you
I hadn't written yet
The one
you would answer
(how life can be changed
in a minute)
How atoms were
not so much singing as jostling
like a gigantic
dance floor
Which included
the entire suburb
of Willoughby
And the sun
on the concrete
That I too was conscripted
How everyone I passed was smiling
at me
How even the litter
was a part of it

* Title after Linda Gregg’s poem All of it Singing

www

world wide web
interconnected threads, eyes glazed over, scrolling in bed
intrusive thoughts in your head

internet distraction, occasional refraction of exponential backwards traction
food rationed; compulsive patterns; love taciturn

google is a monopoly, nintendo switches swapped in for dollies
encyclopaedias now a commodity,
hit the search bar for a digital colonoscopy

footprints forever encased in code, reddit forums a humble abode
nor/mal pronouns in insta bios
watch cat videos to decrease your load
of stress, don’t be a snowflake and get upset!
cyberbullying just a joke
and you better be just the right amount of woke

testing your instincts and intuition: paranoid superstition, nightmares come into fruition
free tuition for whatever your desired occupation,
amalgamation of any temptation, pass go for a lack of limitations
coming out videos apparently desecration
scroll through the news about illegal immigration
and reports on the miscellaneous congregations
intermixed with far too many cringe compilations

opinions caked in fake truths, circular arguments and bitcoin loot
twitter’s become a platform just to shoot others down

face to face interaction more mythic than realistic
hate speech and hate tweets are prolific
slurs and insults too frequent in our linguistics
since when did stupid become a synonym with autistic?

unnamed faces cowering behind screens
hurling accusations solely because they’re unseen
don’t act like you didn’t know your words were obscene
who says you’re allowed to insult a drag queen?

the shooting in Colorado Springs is not a little thing that can be ignored
it rings true for every closeted teen, at all pride gatherings and plunges a sword
into every queer individual.
hearts filled with dread, and tears shed they fear just walking down the street warrants them dead

so, to all the bigots who refuse to realise the weight
of their actions, let me give you an update
human rights aren’t up for debate, go simmer in your own hate
or take your opinions, douse them in gasoline and incinerate

because if we don’t disintegrate every comment that discriminates
the benefit of the internet just dissipates
there’s no use to the world wide web
if it is concentrated with malice and hatred, so instead
consider whether your next negative message is better left unsaid

When You Were a Child

This is the sea where you learnt to swim,
your eyes tracing seagulls’ flight paths,
while your dad taught you how to float,
spread your arms and relax,
feel the water hold you up
and whisper a silent thanks.

This is the sea where the water
didn’t creep under your door,
every night, whispering its secrets,
a warm sea slithering on your floor.
This is the sea that stared back at you,
plastic scabs melting into the water,
while we drove into the dust,
dried memories scattered in the air.