Alison Eastley
In the winter of inexplicable dreams
My fetishist hides
a stash to defy any category although if you flick
through the Ezi-Buy
catalogue you’ll find something especially soft,
sensuous to the eye, then check
to make sure
it comes in a large enough size like those shoes
pole dancers wear,
the giveaway signs, big feet, the inability
to dance
to any beat. Your make-up is sublime
in the winter
of inexplicable dreams
you feed my fantasy
with your fuchsia
pink stilettoes stuck in the sheets
of the bed I don’t notice
this waltz has you on your back
and me on my feet
(…then my knees.)
Love, Sex & Tragedy
(Data from the Australian Survey of Social Attitudes suggest that loneliness is significant in Australia with 35%
of men and 29% of women reporting that loneliness was a serious problem [more like a hunger].)
A true Cynic lives in a barrel,
her sole possession, a bowl. When she sees
Echo cupping her hands in the nearby pool
the bowl is thrown away.
Who said it’s a dog’s life?
A true Stoic runs a hot bath.
And slits her wrist. The water swirls
like the mind of an inscrutable face.
There is no
psychology here. My face is a blank oval.
A painting from a painting
from a painting. A copy if you like.
I have forgotten
the last letter. A true Stoic
bandages her wrist, gets out
of the bath to layout
unoriginal words. The task completes
a calm unravelling of the bandage,
toes turn the hot water tap to a splash
not heard like the time our sex
was silent as an ascetic’s unvisited
cave. Don’t we all talk without mentioning
the sound of my hollow bones, an echo
of loneliness. Nothing else is left.
The Moon’s Month
1.) Day 3 is worse than the red circle in my diary.
2.) I am frightened.
3.) Cold nights, dark days. They lead to my ancestors.
4.) Another winter solstice?
5.) What to celebrate. The dog is on my bed. He growls at the sound of footsteps.
I see the shadow of a man in my room. I don’t know what it is. My stomach feels sick.
6.) I drank too much. Then I cried.
7.) I’m sorry.
8.) …
9.) I’m not used to being without. My doctor is away. Who will I ask? And who can I tell
day 3 is worse when the phone doesn’t ring. Midnight messages all deleted. I am a hard-luck story. I have a past and today and tomorrow died with my ancestors. I don’t believe in ghosts. I want a cigarette.
10.) I want a cigarette.
11.) I want a cigarette.
12.) …
13.) My back hurts. I used to be a nurse with a sixth sense for detecting bullshit.
I found it hard to keep a straight face. Small towns are the same. Nobody
14.) is to blame. I am ugly but you say unattractive which is how my brother
described his wife just before he left her. When check-out chicks say have a nice day I
suspect they are on the Buddhist path and wonder how to stay
15.) in the present you simply don’t understand why I am afraid.
16.) My mouth opens.
17.) There is no beginning, no word sound. I hear you ask ‘are you there? Are
you there?’, then tell me the reception is bad. Voices cut in
18.) and out. My voice is in my head. I say ‘it’s alright. It’s alright. It’s’
19.) …
20.) Where does my need to understand you understand
21.) I don’t mind you’re going to your reputation in a town far away.
22.) I am your worst kind of fantasy.
23.) I won’t do
24.) what happens in the land of bananas and broad brimmed hats. In the land
of clean nails, mild manners, damp hands, warm drinks,
25.) my solar plexus glows like an Occupational Health & Safety warning sign.
If I slip
26.) on words, would you write an incident form in numerical order for the
meeting of upcoming important events? Do you think
27.) there is a threat to the pyramid schemes the salesman can’t read redneck
on his white paper napkin?
Does it matter I don’t believe
28.) 26 is no more important than 27. The fact is you’re leaving.
Alison Eastley lives in Tasmania, Australia. Previous work has been published in Identity Theory, Mannequin Envy, Wicked Alice, LilyLit and many other fine literary journals and small presses.
Return to November 2012 Edition
My fetishist hides
a stash to defy any category although if you flick
through the Ezi-Buy
catalogue you’ll find something especially soft,
sensuous to the eye, then check
to make sure
it comes in a large enough size like those shoes
pole dancers wear,
the giveaway signs, big feet, the inability
to dance
to any beat. Your make-up is sublime
in the winter
of inexplicable dreams
you feed my fantasy
with your fuchsia
pink stilettoes stuck in the sheets
of the bed I don’t notice
this waltz has you on your back
and me on my feet
(…then my knees.)
Love, Sex & Tragedy
(Data from the Australian Survey of Social Attitudes suggest that loneliness is significant in Australia with 35%
of men and 29% of women reporting that loneliness was a serious problem [more like a hunger].)
A true Cynic lives in a barrel,
her sole possession, a bowl. When she sees
Echo cupping her hands in the nearby pool
the bowl is thrown away.
Who said it’s a dog’s life?
A true Stoic runs a hot bath.
And slits her wrist. The water swirls
like the mind of an inscrutable face.
There is no
psychology here. My face is a blank oval.
A painting from a painting
from a painting. A copy if you like.
I have forgotten
the last letter. A true Stoic
bandages her wrist, gets out
of the bath to layout
unoriginal words. The task completes
a calm unravelling of the bandage,
toes turn the hot water tap to a splash
not heard like the time our sex
was silent as an ascetic’s unvisited
cave. Don’t we all talk without mentioning
the sound of my hollow bones, an echo
of loneliness. Nothing else is left.
The Moon’s Month
1.) Day 3 is worse than the red circle in my diary.
2.) I am frightened.
3.) Cold nights, dark days. They lead to my ancestors.
4.) Another winter solstice?
5.) What to celebrate. The dog is on my bed. He growls at the sound of footsteps.
I see the shadow of a man in my room. I don’t know what it is. My stomach feels sick.
6.) I drank too much. Then I cried.
7.) I’m sorry.
8.) …
9.) I’m not used to being without. My doctor is away. Who will I ask? And who can I tell
day 3 is worse when the phone doesn’t ring. Midnight messages all deleted. I am a hard-luck story. I have a past and today and tomorrow died with my ancestors. I don’t believe in ghosts. I want a cigarette.
10.) I want a cigarette.
11.) I want a cigarette.
12.) …
13.) My back hurts. I used to be a nurse with a sixth sense for detecting bullshit.
I found it hard to keep a straight face. Small towns are the same. Nobody
14.) is to blame. I am ugly but you say unattractive which is how my brother
described his wife just before he left her. When check-out chicks say have a nice day I
suspect they are on the Buddhist path and wonder how to stay
15.) in the present you simply don’t understand why I am afraid.
16.) My mouth opens.
17.) There is no beginning, no word sound. I hear you ask ‘are you there? Are
you there?’, then tell me the reception is bad. Voices cut in
18.) and out. My voice is in my head. I say ‘it’s alright. It’s alright. It’s’
19.) …
20.) Where does my need to understand you understand
21.) I don’t mind you’re going to your reputation in a town far away.
22.) I am your worst kind of fantasy.
23.) I won’t do
24.) what happens in the land of bananas and broad brimmed hats. In the land
of clean nails, mild manners, damp hands, warm drinks,
25.) my solar plexus glows like an Occupational Health & Safety warning sign.
If I slip
26.) on words, would you write an incident form in numerical order for the
meeting of upcoming important events? Do you think
27.) there is a threat to the pyramid schemes the salesman can’t read redneck
on his white paper napkin?
Does it matter I don’t believe
28.) 26 is no more important than 27. The fact is you’re leaving.
Alison Eastley lives in Tasmania, Australia. Previous work has been published in Identity Theory, Mannequin Envy, Wicked Alice, LilyLit and many other fine literary journals and small presses.
Return to November 2012 Edition