Ella Jeffery



In the Former French Concession

I see them from my bedroom, pegged beside the neighbour’s smog-coloured slips, and on street corners in the black thatch of power lines: fish dried crisp, leaf-print bodies honed to bone, mined for eyes and eggs, scales and fins mixed …

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Crescent Road

Nobody comes here who is not lost or home. 3 pm: the hour of housecats whiskering across open-palmed backyards while cars shark up this hill much too fast. The road’s a double nothing: it splits into tarry hoops of cul-de-sacs …

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Buying Satin Dresses at Yu Garden

I buy them like fruit, my body still on the bike, one foot grounded. This one like a wedge of lime on my lip. Idiot machines clench these colours together in some grainy province, craft ravelled down to whatever thread’s …

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genius loci

god of wrong-coloured curtains we kept anyway god of the chlorine-poisoned geckoes and treefrogs in the filter box god of pale brown spiders that cruise humid cupboards empty shoes a sleep-warm bed god of cups exiled to drink up dust …

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Gibberbird: Of Birds and Other Strings

QPFThis mini issue is a poetic conversation between a source poem and ten poems found from within its lines. It’s a refraction of language and image through poetic prisms, an intersection of the familiar and unfamiliar, blurring the edges through the 11 authors’ interpretations.

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Native

A block of greasy light reaches me from the neighbour’s shed, settles on the desk. I browse the keyboard for words I have forgotten. I type ‘stitch’ and imagine skin. I copy down my steps all night in the cold …

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