Daisy closed the magazine, added it to the pile of others on the broad table beside the bed, smoothed her mother’s rug, patted the pillows, patted her hands, kissed her lightly and left the room, taking the tray on which the tea had gone cold in the silver teapot, and where the delicate cress sandwiches lay almost untouched on the delicate green plate.
She sat in the nearby sunroom, looking out across the tops of two old apple trees that were busy with white blossom.
(Carmel Bird, ‘Euthanasia and the good butler’)
The memorable image of butterflies dying to become brown leaves evokes both our sense of being late to experience―of missing out―as well as the limits placed on our ability to fully comprehend experience.
(Darius Sepehri, ‘Judith Wright’s The Shadow of Fire and making the ghazal appropriate for Australia’, Southerly 76.3)
Bound in green leather, the book looks like a rare first edition with flaking gold writing on the spine and vanilla pages.
(Cassandra Atherton, ‘The live sparrow of translation’, Southerly 76.3)
oh how small the world is!
you’re just moving
from one shore of the Pacific to the other
stones are the same stones
the moon is the same moon
as is the orange melancholy of sycamore leaves
(Zahra Taheri, ‘Rainless may’, tr. Bijan Mottahedeh, Southerly 76.3)