she gathered to her

All her love and bundled all the photographs she could find; closing the door behind her, she hoped to leave nothing but dust.


The minarets were wailing and though he agreed it was a good idea at the time, he ground at his teeth in his sleep, waking every morning to the taste of chalk and divorce.


There was moment; she knew you loved her. But it was only a moment.

Categorized as musing

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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