In Melbourne in the late 80s, when I was 22, I left Bohemian Fitzroy and moved to a cute worker’s cottage in seaside Albert Park…
Author: Radiant Rebecca Kingsbury
Behind The Eight Ball
You never met your paternal Grandfather, her husband and your Dad’s Father. All your Dad told about him was that he died while potting the eight-ball in a game of pool; it occurs to you that there’s an explanation (other than your misspent youth) for your prowess with a pool cue and your chronic sense…
Not Waving, Drowning
Now that delicious feeling has morphed into a contracted foreboding that you just can’t seem to shake without at least two glasses of wine.
It’s Not All Black and White
“There is a grief
Carried in my bones forever
So profound that I fear
If I meet it fully I will die.”
She told me her story. How her mother got her addicted to meth when she was 14. How she single handedly raised her little brother and sister. How her other brother is going to jail. How she is pregnant. “But don’t worry” she says… It’s from a previous relationship. Before I met your son. I…
The Spirit of Palm Beach
I’ve been tempted to judge myself as desperate and needy, indulging Mills and Boonesque fantasies of a romance with the ghost of a troubled surfer-boy from Palm Beach.
“My senses are electric and magnetic.
My nervous system sparkles with pleasure as I feel the coolness of dew under my feet.”
To my relief
And I dropped in..
Past the anger
Past the anguish
Down, down, down
To the grief.
To the very bloodroot of things.
As you rode that bike, you head hanging forward…shoulders to your ears..
Skinny jeaned knees splayed …
sun bleached, dirty curls swinging…
You body made you look like you were bracing yourself for impact…
I had a dream just now. I was somewhere with you. Falling in love with you again. We were in a room somewhere above the clouds. Maybe we were in a fairytale castle? It seemed that way. I saw a pink, painted pillow floating in the sky as if it were a cloud. I found…
Still Life With Jitterbug – a Tribute to Tom Robbins
The raspberry is the most sensual of fruits. The peach, admittedly, is more voluptuous, but the peach is unabashedly bawdy while the raspberry is exquisitely subtle. Strawberries are seductive enough, yet there runs through the strawberry a fickleness. The sensory imprint of the raspberry lingers long after the strawberry is spent. Native peoples get their…