Type
Poetry

The Easement

dead ground    [         ] in this median season
 [        ] of trees ingrown [                          ]
 [        ] like scissors pushed [                     ]
 [                                      ] beneath our feet

 [                                   ] known developers
 rose from the sand [                                  ]
 [                   ] casting chicken prayer they
 [                ] ate blue metal to survive there

 above house cemetery [                             ]
 wild melons sprawled in    to
                            rooms of weather [        ]
 where once we held hands [   ] and plotted

 or just touched [                             ] palms
 [           ] now the drained pool       dreams
 [                     ]  and parliament strays bite
 holes in anything I write [                         ]

 [                                       at our easement]

Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places.

If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate.

Rebecca Giggs is a Western Australian writer of fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry.

More by