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While you were away | Fiona Wright

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.

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