I.
the end
makes its bed
in my body
i will be cracked plaster
in the dead of winter
a carbon monoxide heater
this house will not be
your home
II.
insurgent cells
silent rebellion
cries red
III.
tar lines my lungs
i always thought
i was too young
twenty-two is deathless
IV.
i pray to a god i do not believe in
i scrub my sins with sugar soap
V.
i wanted my body
to be mine for ever
for ever
seems so far away
VI.
my father warns of hereditary death
as if he is recalling his trip to the grocers
i never tell him to shut up
when he dies he will say: told you so
i will tell him to shut up
VII.
my mothers’ voice is medicine
VIII.
if you are not sick,
mentally ill,
a non-citizen,
or poor
you are eligible to purchase universal-ish healthcare
IX.
i look inside
to touch decay
i never liked modern architecture anyway
with its sterile walls,
sexless floors
X.
to be is to be liminal
the space between two states of non-space
XI.
my first love,
and my first loves life.
a walk at the merri creek
cigarettes as therapy
everything ends
Ava Nunan is a writer from Naarm (Melbourne), Australia.