The man who sells me fish at the Coburg market is a respectable man.
Each time I ask for half a dozen oysters and each time the price is different,
depending on what I’m wearing.

I never ask if he remembers my face. I keep the mystery of his choices alive.
Yesterday I was feeling exuberant.
Hair free — skirt silked.

I found fifty dollars on the bus and my legs were coconut oil.
Only nine dollars for half a dozen oysters. I drank them down
with cognac and a shot of espresso.

Then, I jumped into a very deep flame.
The world gifted me a diamond necklace and notifications,
peonies flooded my bathroom.

I crawl up to where the ground smokes,
dark-eyed and wanting.

Only eighteen dollars for half a dozen oysters.
I eat them on the side of the road, hunched over
by the dumpster while light rain, knots my hair,
rubbish dancing in the wind and life is so
free, it’s so free I just might take its name.

Rebecca Kelly

Rebecca Kelly is a poet from the waters of Darkinjung Country, currently situated on Wurundjeri Country. Presently, her work is fuelled by questions of class, work, identity and psyche.

More by Rebecca Kelly ›

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