Albert Park by Alice Miller

I hear the sea how we come back claiming to be altered when

the painting of the barracks shows once we were never

live in what�s now owned by us, round trees curled

down to hear your thoughts starred

bold but let�s walk unscripted to the bar where we sang

when we knew

Kirsti Whalen: Brave Like

an excerpt



Gaffer toe inside lake water. Not cold in there. Is not. Like. Imagined. Run, he say. Little eel snap snapping at your toes. Water like mud and thick too. Shallow but. Out. Out, Love Little. Out for it. Little run, Little One. Little One, his name for me.



But we are West. Rules snap snapping. This the other side. East of home and West of an older one. Western Springs. Springs