by Scott-Patrick Mitchell Two Black Cats Night does not know where her shore ends and their fur begins. In the dark, one cat could easily stand in for the other. Street light pours invented sun into pavement. Bushes brim with wing and insect purr. One cat calls to the other as if a bird is caught in its throat: affectionate shorthand. A nest of rubbing. Kerb crests the edge of street as if a dune. Shard of broken taillight, a sea rose. The other cat answers with a long stretch: night envies feline’s starless arch, how it will never dissolve into day. A walker-by can feel the touch of four green moons watching them. The cold regards everything. Movement bells as if Christmas, coming early. They make a playground out of dark, chase each other until the sun colours the world in. Ecologies & Eulogies
Elsewhere, other ecologies are collapsing. A koala clings to the top of a burnt blue-gum, searching for leaf and kin, her paws pink, blistering. In the artery of the Murray- Darling, cod and carp bloat as the current chokes for oxygen. Across two hot days, flying foxes amass grave. In an outcrop, a black-flanked rock wallaby gathers her offspring near: wind whimpers scent of surveyor. Serenade for end days: my mother’s fever rambles from her throat. She tells me how every wrinkle across her body is a lineage, endangered or extinct. How, as a child, she wanted to make the world into an Ark. But the only wood she could craft was a coffin she called a home. Afloat on elegy, she struggles for breath. Elsewhere, other eulogies are being carved into earth and bone. Scott-Patrick Mitchell (SPM) is a non-binary poet who lives as a guest on Whadjuk Noongar Land. In 2019, they won MPU’s Martin Downey Urban Realist Poetry Award. SPM was recently shortlisted for the 2020 and 2021 Red Room Poetry Fellowship. SPM’s debut collection, Clean, will be released early 2022.
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