Three graves by a rising moon, white hot in the sinking sun. The freckled moon won’t weep today, He cracks a crescent smile and Nan says it means the rain will pour out of him. It’s too fucking humid for that, Today. Like shrines, with solar lights, the sentinel bodies lie, While fake roses yearn for heaven And the bleaching wash of a lemon sun. MY HOME TOWN HAS THE SOFTNESS, the stillness and the coldness of the freshly dead. The aroma of death lingers to the west of the main drag, not of rotting corpses stacked to the […]
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WE WALKED ALONG THE DUST ROAD as twilight hung in the air. The walk felt like a procession; as John and I passed the tin and weatherboard shopfronts where brightly dressed women sold betel nut, acquaintances stopped us to chat. We saw almost everyone we knew along the road that evening, which was strange, because we had only just decided to leave Bougainville. My two-month visa was set to expire in a week, and I had failed to acquire a new one. The courier company had simply forgotten to send my passport to Moresby the previous week. A sweet-looking man […]
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