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by C. J. Vallis
Smiling fox hangs from the cot rail, draw his tail down and lullaby sings guten abend, gute nacht for giving a whirly gurney, an electropop infusion of ultrasound, drip drip chemical cocktail pumps blink warning lights some party your spinal tap seeps time, you are seventeen seventy cytotoxic and dah dee dah dah dee dah go to sleep days be long you under stand with stand Summer left her breath her ward bed her substance absorbed with paper towel in patient out anyway how long is day memory? chance or strategy? these cards stacked 52 thick and counting turning and matching days (not diamonds) in grown toe nails and wigs the smell of glands, metal can sir sleep? doctor nurse bitte patterns to sense, recall wild ear fire drum bird words what colour to hold? be hold, lulled by fox paw, your claw marks in velvet liver. C. J. Vallis is a writer and educator on Wangal land. She won the 2019 UTS Writing Anthology prize. Her flash fiction was runner-up in the Byron Writers 2019 competition, and she has been longlisted for the Joanne Burns and Microflix Writing Awards. She's hoping to publish a novel soon.
2 Comments
Adam Butler
24/8/2025 05:51:22 pm
Your imagery captured a day on the ward , its smells , it’s anguish, the mundanity, its drama. I can’t imagine what the experience is ( was ) like but maybe just a little bit now . Poetry isn’t my strength ( I read it 4 times gleaming a little more insight each time .)
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Carmen Vallis
30/8/2025 08:35:37 am
Thanks so much for reading and glad it resonated with you!
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