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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 7, Number 3, September 2013

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Cynthia Rowe
Woollahra, New South Wales, Australia


Frankfurt

The Concierge’s face is as grey as his uniform, the lobby chilly and unnaturally quiet. It’s 5 a.m. and the long-haul flight has left me enervated. I exit the cage elevator, tip the bellboy and crawl beneath the double doona without bothering to shower, despite reeking of recycled cabin air and First: the preferred perfume of the carrier.

movie set
beside the fake hive
a real bee

The same waitress as last time, with the big hands and stern hairstyle, knocks on the door with a surprisingly gentle rap. She delivers cheese and sausage with black bread, and even blacker coffee, for breakfast. I thank her with a wan smile. I never feel at one with this city, staging post for the next leg of my journey . . .

ground fog
hemmed in
by silence

too long
in the sun . . . she shivers
from the cold

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