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A Quarterly Journal of Contemporary English Language Haibun
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Contents Page: March, 2010, vol 6 no 1

 

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Cynthia Rowe

Drought

The ceiling rose is carved with cherubs and leaves, unidentifiable swirls. A shade created from tulip-shaped silk encases the light fitting. Knotted tassels droop down, throwing shadows on the walls which dance and tremble when we make love. Beneath the floor of this room runs a river, a creek which has never dried up. Which may have dried up once, but which flows again despite the drought. Sulphur crested cockatoos and pink-tinted Major Mitchells flap to a halt on our chimney, following the scent of water. They have fled the empty billabongs* in the now arid countryside and we pause to listen. Claws and beaks scrabble at the terracotta tiles over our heads.

heat haze...
a tumbleweed rests
on the jasmine


*billabong (Austral.) = small lake

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