November 2022


In this issue

Contents

Poetry

Four Poems by Alison Morse

Alison Morse weaves a heartbreaking narrative of garment factory workers’ life through the scope of Human sufferings, paved with lack of accountability by owners and substandard working conditions.

Somewhere by my grandparents house; strawberries from the heart

Better still, there are Oranges in Europe and Grapes in South Melbourne and A man from the Northern suburbs with a belt that Wears studs and a tattoo I know better than to Question, who Offers me a coffee with half a spoon of sugar.

I Had a Hard Time Identifying Myself Drowned

I thought I was Orpheus’s head floating down the Hebrus still singing, but I was not singing—

To Be Dirty

A teacher once asked if I lived on the dirty side of the Philippines, I had to think what she meant—if she meant a part easier to ignore homeless kids on the streetsides with cardboard blankets curled up like street dogs; if dirty meant poor meant eating rice with soy sauce ‘cause mama couldn’t afford meat;

Listening to Louis Armstrong

Flowers I can’t name stretch over the lip of a windowsill to stare into the swooning sun. I will not sing, but I am tempted.

A Pocket full of Posies

the spider climbs the spout the wheels on the bus go round Jack gets the magic beans and I say ding dong we are all scrambling out of the frying pan where dozens of eggs were broken to make incredible inedible omelets

March

What I recall from night is tangled in the uneasy rising of a new day. No need to fiddle in my sleep