In the key of E minor

by Stephanie on June 30, 2009

1.

The lights are off. The tree in the front garden is dead, but the one out the back is not. Dripping birch branches glisten in the wet dark. The power lines and commission flats are silhouetted on blue-black sky. Rain hammers on the roof. The dog sulks, curled up in the corner of the couch.

2.

I dreamt crocodile on Sunday night. A four-metre brute lunged for my throat and I jerked awake, heart pounding, breathing rapidly. Cadie says pay attention.

3.

My last trip home from Brisbane was late summer. At the tail of the plane there was only darkness. In front, pale gold and blue was bathed in cloud, and we raced towards it with the night chasing after us. It was like flying through perpetual dusk—Venus rising hung static in the sky and the grey city we were leaving behind was swallowed by shadow. For a moment, it really felt like edge of the earth.

4.

hey you, gender nectar,
in a tangle, sugar

it’s more than silt
and a lukewarm kiss—
sometimes there’s a hum
a hum
a hum

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