Ranunculus. And bread and butter pudding.
First t-shirt for the season.
I rearranged the furniture,
and didn’t tell you,
I locked myself out twice.
Big Cactus Sale.
I fed my niece her first strawberry, I dropped
a chocolate cake. I didn’t go
to yoga for a week.
Lost cat, three legs, and very fluffy.
The dress shop you like closed.
The rosemary died. I found a bookshop
that sells cocktails and read articles
on organ transplants.The cockroaches
came back. I laughed so loud
a man dropped his takeaway coffee.
International Talk Like a Pirate Day.
Live bees in transit.
I drank eighteen glasses of champagne
(all up, not
in one night),
sucked golden syrup off a spoon.
I threw out
those shoes you hate.
I read in the sun.
I woke early, and walked down George Street
in the quiet. I read in the sun.
I didn’t miss you.
Fiona Wright is a writer, editor and critic from Sydney. Her book of essays Small Acts of Disappearance won the 2016 Kibble Award and the Queensland Literary Award for non-fiction. Her poetry collections are Knuckled, which won the 2012 Dame Mary Gilmore Award, and Domestic Interior (Giramondo, 2017); and her new essay collection is forthcoming this year.