by ​Elspeth Findlay 

Mornings I’d wiggle out of mother’s grasp ungroomed,
                                    With the elements, she’s made a pact,
red tangle top, barefoot, clothes immaterial,
                                    She calls them out, they heed her back,
I wore my magic mantle out into the sunlit stream,
                                    With fire’s force and  water’s flow,
a little witch, constantly on call to officiate
                                    with land’s spirit and air’s blow
at births, deaths and marriages
                                    as above, so below,
in childhood, all my days were holy days.
 
 
I attended the delivery of slippery little parcels of puppies
                                    As the droplets of water are sprinkled           
watched bitches lick them open and opened others if allowed.
                                    a new heart,
I cheered on lumpy sacksful of foal as they slooshed out
                                    filled with love and faith,
mares sweating, their sides heaving in great contractile waves.
                                    touched by grace
I watched egg toothed chicks burst their brittle shelter
                                    blessed and embraced
Supervised the first flippered staggerings of baby turtles.
 
 
Deaths required respectful burials, feathers and fur smoothed
                                    your life we honor,
a few ritual words about the deceased, a wreath laid
                                    your memory we cherish
grass flowers or mimosa, I confess to close examinations,
                                    today as we say goodbye
the perfection of pinions, the gorgeous greens of budgies
                                    there is gratitude for your life
the padded paws of cats, the insides of those attacked,
                                    your departure we accept.
I closed the empty eyes of those I’d known.
 
 
At ‘marriages’ I’d arrive uninvited, fascinated
                                    for better for worse
by the end to end, inflight sex of dragonflies,
                                    ‘til death us do part
hovering as wagtail pairs wove nests of grass and hair
                                    for richer for poorer
respectfully present at the winding binding of snakes,
                                    to have and to hold
enchanted by the elegant bridal dance of brolgas.
                                    to love and to cherish
Breathlessly, I blessed them all. 

Dwelling in community in the Northern Rivers of NSW, Elspeth Findlay’s poetry and prose burrows into live-wild and loving cultures, inciting radical metamorphosis needed in these incendiary times. Published in the Northerly, Coastlines, Emergent Literary Journal, Poetry for the Planet anthology, it also tours with the Bimblebox 153 Birds exhibition. Her Fiction ‘The Diviner’ is in Jacaranda and won the National Campus Writing Prize. Her first poetry collection was launched by Dangerously Poetic Press in October 2024.

by Christian Ward

I mistook some sea monkeys 
for my house keys and ended
with a revolt in my pocket.
 
I mistook a barn owl for my wallet 
and received ossified pellets 
in exchange for credit card points.
 
I mistook a glasswing butterfly
for my glasses and an overwhelming 
desire for nectar lifted me off the ground.
 
I mistook the ocean for my oyster card 
and a tidal wave knocked on my bedroom 
window, asking for its pearls back. 
 
Among other things, I mistook marriage 
for a funeral pyre, love for a ticking pomegranate, 
grief for a pelt of rain, and a cuttlefish for poetry.
 
I once mistook dreaming for an uncaught trout 
and an entire river rushed through me when I woke. 

Christian Ward is a UK-based poet, with recent work in Southword, Ragaire, Okay Donkey, and Roi Faineant. Longlisted for the 2023 National Poetry Competition (UK), he won a number of competitions in 2024, including the Maria Edgeworth, Pen to Print, London Independent Story Prize and the Shahidah Janjua Poetry Competition.