'Not knowing how to start this editorial, I lazily google ‘belong’. A grossly simplified e-dictionary pops up to tell me that ‘belong’ comes from Middle English: ‘be-’ + an archaic form of ‘long’. But rather than investigate longen like the diligent researcher I should be, I am temporarily sidetracked; I think intensely about ‘being long’, consider stretching out on the ground, pointing my toes, elongating my spine, straightening my fingers. I think about being the longest me I can be.' (Jessica Wilkinson Editorial introduction)
Only literary material by Australian authors individually indexed. Other material in this issue includes:
Elegy by Devin Kelly
The Magician by Alysse Kathleen McCanna
Might Kindred by Monica Gomery
Remember When by Adam Berlin
Cositas by Katie Afshar
Migration Story by Juliana Chang
The Houses I Grew Up In by Ashia Ajani
Poem Where I Contend the Arc of History Bends Toward Itself by Cortney Lamar Charleston
Phan Quynh Tram Interviews Nha Thuyen
When is it Enough? and Bao Gio Thoi Roi Rung by Nha Thuyen
'One of my earliest memories in life is set in my kindergarten classroom. I am five years old, and I am trying to make friends with a girl who has her hair tied in two ponytails, one on either side of her head. On some days, she has fluffy red adornments in her hair; her mouth is as small and as stained as a cheery. She already has a special friend. She does not want to be mine. I am trying to talk to her in class, but she raises her hand, and tells the teacher I am bothering her. The teacher puts masking tape over my mouth. I begin to cry, and the alphabet and its accompanying pictures on the chart pinned to the wall begin to blur. I cannot breathe; I am crying so hard,my nose has blocked up. A is for apple, B is for ball. The cat is yellow, the dog is brown. The teacher looks worried, and gestures to me to take the masking tape off. The girl I like puts her had up and tells the teacher. I never speak to her again.' (Introduction)
'One of my earliest memories in life is set in my kindergarten classroom. I am five years old, and I am trying to make friends with a girl who has her hair tied in two ponytails, one on either side of her head. On some days, she has fluffy red adornments in her hair; her mouth is as small and as stained as a cheery. She already has a special friend. She does not want to be mine. I am trying to talk to her in class, but she raises her hand, and tells the teacher I am bothering her. The teacher puts masking tape over my mouth. I begin to cry, and the alphabet and its accompanying pictures on the chart pinned to the wall begin to blur. I cannot breathe; I am crying so hard,my nose has blocked up. A is for apple, B is for ball. The cat is yellow, the dog is brown. The teacher looks worried, and gestures to me to take the masking tape off. The girl I like puts her had up and tells the teacher. I never speak to her again.' (Introduction)
'One of my earliest memories in life is set in my kindergarten classroom. I am five years old, and I am trying to make friends with a girl who has her hair tied in two ponytails, one on either side of her head. On some days, she has fluffy red adornments in her hair; her mouth is as small and as stained as a cheery. She already has a special friend. She does not want to be mine. I am trying to talk to her in class, but she raises her hand, and tells the teacher I am bothering her. The teacher puts masking tape over my mouth. I begin to cry, and the alphabet and its accompanying pictures on the chart pinned to the wall begin to blur. I cannot breathe; I am crying so hard,my nose has blocked up. A is for apple, B is for ball. The cat is yellow, the dog is brown. The teacher looks worried, and gestures to me to take the masking tape off. The girl I like puts her had up and tells the teacher. I never speak to her again.' (Introduction)
