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


Cynthia Rowe
Woollahra, New South Wales, Australia


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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