Gavin Austin

Crosswinds

Jonquils perfume the Melbourne morning as I leave the riverwalk and approach the stairway. Our stairway. Dark green painted handrails lead into the city’s murmur. I trail my fingers along their sleek, enameled coldness, over carved initials and graffiti, and think of the day we together climbed these stairs to Princes Bridge. The sunlight angled across your face and wind-tousled hair, your laughter light as you paused on the seventh step, turned, and asked, “So, do you love me?”

I brushed aside your question, my face burning, my tongue thick and useless. But I remember how your words had soared, like the swallows skimming the air that morning. A flight to the unknown.

dandelion clock
the one remaining
wish


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About the Author

Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. He writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.

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