BUY THE BOOK HERE FROM VINE LEAVES PRESS! Tender Cuts is a collection of thirty-eight one-page, square slice-life stories where love and pain make their incisions of beauty and butchery. A child sits inches from the TV screen to drown out their parents’ fighting, a daughter is haunted by her fussy mother’s ghost, a woman marries a 1985 Buick Lesabre and a widower spreads the ashes of her lover in the places he loved most – these are just a few of the stories this marvellous b
Kitchen Dance My mother and father made smoke in the kitchen
over hot pots and pans, over hot water and oil,
over time, over each other’s bellies. They danced
in front of the oven until fire shot from their feet;
showed us how love might look at the end of a long
work day. It was more than sustenance, the manner in which
they made time for feeding us, how they taught us
to squeeze art from a biscuit. They never advertised
or led us to the table with a noose around our
Order The Book Here! $50,000 is a slice of life narrative, hovering between prose and poetry with a five-standalone-sentences per page format. Advertised as a long poem, it is a great book for poetry-lovers and haters alike as it is modest in its poetical techniques but still packs a hell of a punch. Weatherhead’s poem carries the reader through ‘the unrelenting passage of time, the inevitable need to make a living, and the foreboding beauty of numbers, names, and friendship’
We Gulp Down Minutes and Hours as If There Will Always be Seconds I sat in French class gazing up at beautiful words
meaningless to me
sailing softly over my head
the teacher told me and another philistine
to leave the class
to find another
we walked down the corridor
sniggering the shame away he knocked on the door of another classroom
and was gone
I walked on
out of the school and sat in the shade of a hundred-year-old tree
I did that every day for a year
Great man Behind the veil of immaculate speeches and harsh promises they would lie down, naked, and she
would stroke him, her fingertips tracing the curve of his lower back – smooth like the slope of a
sunny dune softly glowing beneath her hand – careful to stay far away from his hands that always
stretched out reaching for more, that increasingly smelled of corroding iron – far away from the red
waves freely flowing through his clenched fists, she would lay her face in h
Autumn tossed in winter opening the door
to let the dog out.
cold creeping inward
like a clammy hand
and bedclothes. last night
the first frost
fell like petals - I drove to work
looking at pictures of leaves.
all gone now.
then the daylight thaw
like autumn tossed into winter
and ice among the aircurrents
instead of on the lawn.
the dog is barking at the garden wall.
it will be a minute
before she's in
and feeling satisfied.
in the kitchen
I stretch my legs