Gavin Austin

Unfettered

Tonight, I am painting for you. The white canvas, a snowstorm, waits for my hand to tame it. Or it to tame me. I apply the whites, white on white, with an undertone of blue, and what could be a suggestion of grey at the ridges. I smear the paint, thickened with modelling paste, heavily onto the surface with a palette knife. Whipping it further, it stands in a snow covered mountain range. I want to touch those peaks, assess their fragility. I add colour. Swirl reds into a tangle of raspberry vines, fruit ripe and ready. Making runnels, I trail my fingers through the paint. I want to hold the summer berries, rescue them from the blue of cold. Save them from the white grey; the breath in a blizzard, from a gaping mouth, a sigh forming that has not yet grown to a scream.

ropes
of incense smoke
pervade the room . . .
sinuous and writhing
before finding the door

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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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