Cirrus@Austlit

'I am ten years old, standing by the fridge in our kitchen. Underneath chunky souvenir magnets are unpaid bills and excursion forms that need signing. Most of these papers have light red crinkles down them, lines like dried out creek beds. I stretch to pull the cardboard wine box towards the edge of the fridge. The black plastic tap is hard to press, sometimes it catches my thumbnail and makes it go all rosy underneath. Because it takes so much effort, I usually overfill Dad's glass so I don't have to make a return trip. He never minds, but Mum rolls her eyes when Dad's not looking...'

 (Publication abstract)