for Germaine Greer after the Festival of Dangerous Ideas In the cut lip of the coliseum within its raised arches of white I came, in twenty-twelve, to see you fight. For every man who loves to loathe is a woman who loves to love: my mother made you our household god. And I believed she … Continue reading
The dull chock of carrots, free-wheeling turmeric circles on the chopping board say I am home again. The creaking of the eaves against the retreating sky speak of cold windows, the eyelash-and-louse tobacco loose in the top-right-hand draw smells like my father’s office, half a world of time away. In the garden a lemon tree … Continue reading
At Kuranda for Oodgeroo Noonuccal When I was a girl, I won Your award for my poem: Walking Together. I didn’t know your name inscribed on the trophy I only knew Kath Walker. When I was a girl, I knew Our land belonged to Darkingjung whale people. I knew Budgewoi meant meeting of the waters. … Continue reading
Blue water and blue fibreglass reflect the sun. Salt and cinnamon grease our battered skin and pumpkin flesh. Still-damp costumes chill our nipples and trace wide outlines of our arses on the lounge. I have the Jack of Diamonds. It’s my left bower. I shuffle my suits to suit this new addition. The breeze is … Continue reading
The Darker Continent Sestina for Elizabeth Bishop Step off the pier and into the unknown, flushed from the balmy cabin, out of breath, piqued by dreams of a feathered samba dance, your heart is like a squirrel in a cage, preparing eagerly to test the dark: the frontier you imagined ‘cross the sea. What drove … Continue reading
Tegan Jane Schetrumpf lives in the small coastal town of Budgewoi, and writes poetry, essays and creative non-fiction. The writers she most admires are Sylvia Plath, Gwen Harwood, George Orwell, Jorge Luis Borges and of course, Shakespeare. The cuisines she most admires are Mediterranean and Asian, but she’ll eat anything vegetarian. Tegan was educated at … Continue reading
Poem and Dish 