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Eleanor Searle
‘sharehouse anthology’
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Kitchen thoughtsMilk in the microwave reminds me how time moves
All the things that can be done in a minute and a half of slow rotations under electric light
The sudden hiss of coffee on the stove
An infinite passing of seconds.
How many more years will I spend standing in sharehouse kitchens,
The grease of someone else’s cooking slick on the stovetop?
I don’t get shower thoughts
The hot steam cleans my mind and leaves it warm and empty
My only moment of silent reflection comes each day as I put pot to flame and pour out the milk
And wait for the coffee to brew.
Backyard blues
This my narrow terrace garden,
Too-large hills hoist splicing the sky
And nasturtium vines spilling out of beds and over cracks in the cement path,
Is our stage
And the neighbours,
Their presence noted in quiet clinks of spoon on teacup rim
Vague waft of cigarette smoke
And occasional clearing of throat,
Are our unseen audience.
We have played out many a tragicomedy here
Our legs tangled as we sit on creaking chairs rescued from council collection piles
Pushed in so close I can feel your breath on my neck
As we pass slim joints between reaching fingers
And strain our eyes for sights of stars beneath city skies stripped of darkness
A haven,
A hellscape,
The extremes of love play out to the score of miner birds and motorway hums
Fodder for neighbourhood gossip,
I collect stories I recite from memory
Of suburban romance and backyard blues.
Eleanor Searle lives and writes on Gadigal land. A geographer at heart and in practice, her work explores connection to place and the many environments of human life
Eleanor is featured in our issue 01 print . Get your copy here!