This piece was awarded first place in the Swinburne Sudden Writing Competition The delivery-person appeared as a dark shape against the brilliant setting sun at the front door. The last time people had come to the door silhouetted like that, I was 4 years old, making Mum a tea. Apparently, that’s not what 4-year-olds do, […]

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According to the library’s dusty growth chart, you were no bigger than a blueberry when they first came. Tails flicking in warning or promise.

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I count Teeth to encounter Sleep- Tongue herding Calcium.

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The day was dark and grey, as any day in the month of Gipsha, when the humidity came heavy, and the gas lay thick on the banks of the horizon. Burble, only 80 Taipodian years old, was sent out to collect an evening’s harvest.

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I hate my teeth. They constantly remind me what I cannot do, but so desperately wish I could. A currency that has been depreciated of all hope of achieving harmony, waiting to be buried in the dirt.

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As a young social work student with hopes of changing the world, I was shocked when my Out of Home Care teacher said, ‘Child protection caseworkers have a saying, “If nothing else, I’m getting that kid braces.”’

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 You weren’t meant to live like this. Wagging your tail for a hand that presents uncertainty while your mouth is covered with a muzzle and your neck is strangled by a leash.

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I lost my first fang in the flesh of an apple.   Like all vipers, the first tooth loss is unmatched. 

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They are the unfaltering line of guards. Stronger than gold, silver, or iron, they stand.  Emerging victorious from flesh in our youth, they claw their way out from above and below, looming tall to begin their duty. Some straight, some not.

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Feather-hemmed dresses are fun to wear, and my wings are nothing short of dazzling, decorated with jewels and gems as bright as they come. Wearing them never gets old. 

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What big eyes you have… (Innocent and sweet),  What big ears you have… (Don’t talk; just listen),  What big teeth you have… (Pearly whites with no bite).

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For the first rememberable years of my life, I was a dog. I would walk on all fours and refuse to eat unless food was placed on the floor before me. Dolls and teddies were hastily decapitated, cranial plastic and snowy intestines swept from beneath furniture months post-mortem.

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“My body rides the wave I am gliding on, a gentle pulse, carrying me along.    For the first time in my life I feel as if I am truly in the current.     And yet. ”

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This piece was awarded first place in the second 2022 Swinburne Sudden Writing Competition “The bathroom bench is dirty; no one has cleaned it for months. There are splatters of white from my broken dry-shampoo bottle, bits of grey hair from when Dad shaved for his new job but forgot to clean it up”

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“I wear a name on my skin, but it’s not mine. Above the nipple closest to that strange organ. The one that tricks the ears with a thunderous pulse – that alerts me when she is nearby – that flutters uncontrollably. It is where I hope she’ll stay.”

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