Sculptor

Tomorrow I’ll throw this thirst    who sits heavy in my chest—widen my mouth to smile    out his weight. Today though,I lust for his leaden presence,    how he urges my lungstogether like a kiss, the...

the end of the affair

crept   crawled   |   dragged   its   knees   | stabbed elbows into polished   |   wooden floors  |  eyes fixed on climax   |   between crumbs  ...

Cassava Pone

Mama’s quick to crack these brown, hardened backs, snappin’ ‘emand crackin’ off the tail-ends of these tubers, checking for isolatedimperfections – and she’s quick to inspect ‘em, making mad stacksof lonely, rejected vegetables ‘til she finds cassava flesh so white...

In September

when the borders between usare more jasmine than fence,more mistake than betrayal,I will cross the dew-wet streetwithout looking, you’ll seemore optimist than woman. Samantha Johnson (she/her) is a poet in Melbourne, working on her debut collection.  Her work...