- White in the middle like summer
- we squinted in the heat-waved
- trod the dry rotting houses.
- I pressed my finger to a brittle
- do you remember? and it went
- This burning new year
- we sank at your old house
- into glasses of tonic water.
- Stomachs tight with bubbles,
- we fell asleep on the carpet.
- You hadnt vacuumed,
- we hadnt showered.
- Your body dreamed, hand twitched
- and pressed the small of my
- The fan blew the gap between
- my summer skirt and singlet
- into a cool slice of cream,
- slicked against the landscape.
Anna Ryan-Punch's previous
publications include poetry in The Age, Quadrant, Westerly, Famous Reporter, Going
Down Swinging, and Wet Ink..