CONTRIBUTORS

KA Rees

KA Rees writes poetry and short fiction. Her poems have appeared in Australian Poetry, Cordite Poetry Review, Red Room Poetry, Sky Island Journal, and various Spineless Wonders anthologies. She received the 2025 Val Vallis Award for an unpublished poem and has previously been shortlisted for the Judith Wright Poetry Prize. Her pocket book of poetry,Come the Bones, was published by Flying Island Books in 2021

Looking the orange roughy in the eye

Eat, said my mother as she placed the fish on the bench where we ate seated on old piano stools. I asked its name. Orange roughy she said, It lives two hundred and fifty years underwater on seamounts and in …

Posted in 121: NO THEME 15 | Tagged

MV Sygna

I can’t tell you how the storm raged along the coast, the year before I was born. Tides in concert with celestial bodies aligned, syzygy and perigee—          the moon in her kissed dance with Earth. I can’t tell you how …

Posted in 114: NO THEME 13 | Tagged

Running Out of Air

After Bertolt Brecht From the cities we escape in vehicles laden, but quickly abandon them On highways and back roads leaving doors open and keys in ignitions. We take That which we can carry— babies, animals, their wide eyes questioning …

Posted in 109: NO THEME 12 | Tagged

dust of stars

you wake. your whole body thirsts yourskin is thirsty, the skin on your face thirsts, and it rains as if you are awindow and rain just bounces off your edges runs down your pane and you are holding it out …

Posted in 104: KIN | Tagged

Bravo

I There’s dust and black plastic instead of beach, the curled tongues of lizards washed up bubbles of air—the ticking shoreline. Some beads like scattered rosaries. There are diminutive shadows shaped as organs lying next to stars. Here, a heart …

Posted in 93: PEACH | Tagged

We Make Lemons

after Allen Ginsberg You keep your dark light in jars of Vegemite, I keep my chest air in cans of lemonade and only breathe it / in super markets. Aisles of tinned goods, sugared cereal boxes wrapped in all the …

Posted in 86: NO THEME VII | Tagged

Etch A Sketch

I We found it. The house, down a jagged unpaved road the owner recently widowed coughed her warning: The peacock comes with the house lit the freshburn her next cigarette—floral nighty open to a tongue of breeze. We took it. …

Posted in 82: LAND | Tagged