Culture

By Anonymous (not verified) , 12 October, 2024
The mother cut
That night, as the baby fed, I scrolled through old photos on my phone and wondered if you could envy yourself. I saw my face, my body, my hair, from years and even months ago, and felt a painful tightening in my throat and my jaw. I began to resent the phrase I had heard, yet I could not stop repeating it to myself – the mother cut, the mother cut.
By Anonymous (not verified) , 21 September, 2024
A covered spa in a small backyard.
The spa has been on the cards since the end of spring. Before this, like everyone in Queensland, my father dreamt of a pool. Not a big pool. Not a pool for show and not a time-and-money pit, like my brother Angus has. On Saturdays, my brother’s pool requires hours of combing for leaves and the fallen limbs of palms so that, on Sundays, his beautiful, tanned daughters can stretch long and listless beside it, as allergic to the water as cats. My father’s dream was for a small pool of easy maintenance. In the end, the fear of looking showy gave him digestive issues and he couldn’t afford a pool anyway. So, the spa.