harm less no. 6

It’s not like before. She knows it’s not
at night, the air silent and tomb cool.
Each Friday, they walk hand in dry palm hand,
lethargically to synagogue through streets unoccupied
houses all set far apart.
She never hears the neighbours  now
he has a good job – children will come –  just like they dreamed.
Still, sometimes she sees the armoured van outside the bank
the unbalance of the holstered hip of the guard out the front.
Weighted by steel and leather
she misses home.


By Eleanor Jackson

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

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s