What I Never Said

I find it strange that you still live there, in the house your mother told us not to buy because the roof was falling in and the sink crawled with cockroaches. I remember the look on your face as you disobeyed her for the first time, a mix of exhilaration and fear. You put your half of the deposit down the next day and I did the same, even though it left me with $40 to my name. We were childhood sweethearts, and we thought this was us growing up. A week later, you moved your belongings out of your mother’s house and wouldn’t see her again for a year. I sent her a letter every month to let her know you were okay. Sometimes it was a lie. Besides, she never wrote back. She blamed me. Continue reading

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The Heroine of Anwae

The wind lashed the banners. Moaning, it swept past the soldiers leaving their arms and legs shaking. Most of them looked out across the plain, heads close to their spears, fingers clutching the edges of their shields. Even though the light of the stars and the moon was cut away by the clouds, they knew exactly what lay on the other side of the expanse. Others were leaning over, propping up their helmets with free hands. Puke punctured the air. Continue reading

Bury your Gays…or Don’t

 

What is Queer or LGBTQ+ writing anyway?

LGBTQ+ or queer writing is simply writing that predominantly explores LGBTQ+ themes, through characters or plot. However, I have started with a definition as I think it is really important to discuss the importance of this kind of literature. Literature is a mode through which writers can focus on an idea and have their readers learn and empathise. That empathy and learning is so important in fighting homophobia in all ages groups and communities. Continue reading

Sunflower on the Windowsill

Sat sinking deep

Red armchair thinking

Curtains on the cusp of something –

Open them let the light flow

Softly, softly now, into the room

Where it reveals old being new;

 

On the windowsill there is a sunflower

With its head confidently raised

‘you’ve watered it every day’

To bring the English country home

Inside to confide

With warm unnatural glows

 

Trim it down the stem

And realise as day turns to night

Turns to leaves falling

Turns to winter

Turns to water droplets on the window

Mist and fog

That it cannot last it will die –

 

Watch the petals fall and slide

To the floor

It cannot handle or understand

the urban interior light

it makes no substitute.

 

Its vase remains

Close the curtains

Again – the petals fall one by one

By one

By one.

 

by Michael Morgan