in a room without corners, a child sits between two others. a knock unceasing, they block their ears and eyes. ‘too many’, the child whimpers, ‘too many, please don’t come in’. the mirror behind the three reveals another pair. across a table two masked crow faces raise elbows. a caw with a tell to the other side of the door, ‘come in’. the child quietens and folds her head to her lap.
Author: Rebecca Sullivan
ANYTHING BUT COVID-19 is an online multimedia Arts Festival produced by The University of Melbourne
Explore the festival at this link: https://arts.unimelb.edu.au/students/graduate-coursework/enrich-your-program/enrichment-activities/anything-but
i battle with a body primed to run
the same as yesterday
what haven’t i done?
what have i done?
i haven’t taken my pills
i have taken my pills every day
a guilty urge to hide in bed
it’s then i remember
we’re still in lockdown
i think of my feet
i feel into my hands
.
interrupting my tricks to fix
a familiar sound
thumping feet on the floorboards
a wide gait trot
from his bedroom to mine
.
he pauses at the edge of my mattress
giggles when he meets my eyes
roughly pulls up the doona
bums his way into bed
and begins stroking my skin
mummy’s shoulder he sighs
then moves his hand to my mouth
Shhhhhhhhh
.
we have time this morning
a suburb away
today his sisters are with their dad
no school runs
no disability day service
just him and i
with nothing in particular
to have to do
.
Shhhhhhhhh i copy
blowing the sound onto his hand
do it again he delights
Shhhhhhhhh i sound
onto his forehead
.
He rests his face onto mine
the hair on his chin
a soft prickle on my cheek
my exhale slows
he sniffs at my mouth
wincing at my un-brushed breath
he pushes my shoulder away
cuddle Mummy’s back
i laugh and turn
.
he spoons in close
strokes the skin on my collar bone
his nose tip touching the back of my neck
Mummy’s shoulder he sighs
parting one point five
among the lavender
a myna feather
five k ruled radius
behind a fence
frayed bird of paradise
mask-less men at work
the seven sides of a stop sign
a grey gum forks
electric wires
my muzzled breath
distant school bell sings
suitcase on the nature strip
in roller-blade knee pads
an old man paints
the broken lock
on a gate that swings
stage four curfew
eight pm
rings around the August moon
3rd August 2020, Melbourne
“18.0
The International Museum of Rape will be a solemn affair, like the church, where I once mis-placed my reverence. Church, though, being it’s own museum of rape, will have to pay dearly”. Ellena Savage, Blueberries
drawing by Rebecca Sullivan
Dedicated to The Tuesday before Good Friday 2020
.
.
.
time is an incident report
.
.
.
When I’m old and grey
and I pass away
find your favourite tree
i’ll find it too
and i’ll talk to you
dirty rain;
baby sparrow
dead on driveway
