Featured in

  • Published 20211102
  • ISBN: 978-1-922212-65-8
  • Extent: 264pp
  • Paperback (234 x 153mm), eBook

LOOK AT THAT lamppost by the newspaper kiosk. No, not the one where the bike is locked. The other one. A woman just walked by it. A boy once leaned against it and wept.

Wherever you turn in this town, you come across reminders. You feel a bond with a place or a person, a tree or a bridge or the river itself. Then your first kiss comes back to you, or the memory of a grand disaster, the remnants of which still lurk somewhere in the basement of your mind. The trauma is so deep that every time you come upon that reminder you subconsciously change course. The lamppost does that to me. I frequently walk from one end of this town to the other. Every time I pass it by I pause, then cross the street and sit in the café and stare at it out the window. For the people of this town, this post is like all the rest, a place where the stray dogs lift their hind legs to urinate and young drug dealers lean as they sell their stuff. But for me it’s tied to Vavan. When I look at it, I relive the day my mother said, ‘Take your brother to town and help him start his military service.’

Already a subscriber? Sign in here

If you are an educator or student wishing to access content for study purposes please contact us at griffithreview@griffith.edu.au

Share article

More from author

Manus Prison theory

In ConversationShortly after the release of No Friend but the Mountains: Writing From Manus Prison (Picador, 2018), both Behrouz Boochani and Omid Tofighian, author and...

More from this edition

At the end of the line

Non-fictionTHE CALLS STARTED the night I was released from hospital. My lungs again. I’d coughed so hard inside my motorcycle helmet that I’d blacked out as I slowed down for a traffic light, slipped off and under my bike, and out into a rain-slick intersection.

Away from the edge

Non-fictionMY MOTHER EMIGRATED to Australia on the SS Australis in 1967 as a ten-pound Pom. I first opened my eyes at 1.42 am in the...

The day Khet Thi was tortured to death

Poetryafter Lou Reed   I dreamed –   I was the poet laureate of Naypyitaw, the Abode of Generals.    The Generalissimo was a poet too. So was the Generalissimo’s  American cocker spaniel.  To...

Stay up to date with the latest, news, articles and special offers from Griffith Review.