Poetry I am a ceramic horse in kintsugi  fields. Shards shred my tongue to gold  rivers. Cracked and crazed – from fire  gallops beast. Memory slips  lapis lazuli. I break  curses, gather spells. Nudge  fresh letters in water troughs – watch words bob – shiny  new apples to crunch.

PoetryNana B and Zeide once ice-­skated on a lake in the Carpathian Mountains in Poland. ‘I was made for Poland,’ says Mum, as Brisbane roils with heat. But we are not headed for my great-­grandparents’ homeland; we are journeying to Geelong. ‘Mother-­daughter trips are good...

PoetryWear calico dress with Blueboard shoes, Corflute wings, Mylar  glasses, dangling Ethafoam earrings. Create houses for each object. Know  what is inside without a reference image.  Bundle up rust from your great-great-uncle’s chandelier, each bulb, the light itself. Take care with the light, it has a habit of sneaking out again....