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Rebecca Jessen

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March 2016

TWENTY-TWO (Yesterday)

There was a time there all those years ago, in that old house, that old suburb, there was a time there when I saw you in everything. Wherever I went, wherever I looked, there you were. They say, after a person dies, it’s not uncommon to still see them, in places you might have once seen them, often in the most ordinary of places. Then it’s not uncommon to see you riding down the street on your bicycle. Then it’s not uncommon to see you in the supermarket, stepping off a bus, turning back and catching my gaze.

I don’t really know if people say this, but I imagine it to be true. Otherwise how to explain this seeing you, when I know you are gone. Of course, this was many years ago. I don’t see you anymore, not like that. I’ve moved away now, to a different city, with its own haunts and hauntings. But I still go back, I am always going back.

Ten years is a long time for someone to have passed. I remember it like it was yesterday. Isn’t that what most people say about the moments in their lives where grief is found balled up inside them like a fist.

If I don’t remember it like it was yesterday then there is the danger of forgetting. There is the danger that I could pass through time unmarked, unchanged. If time is not a construct designed to change us, then what is it? If time and grief are balled up inside you like a fist and you refuse change, what happens to that fist? Does grief spread inside you like a roadmap, unfurled, sprawling and unknown.

I remember it like it was yesterday. You were always leaving, even before you left for good. You were always leaving, on a Saturday evening, crashing forward into the night. You were always leaving, on a weekday afternoon, hiding in a nearby empty lot. You were always leaving and we were always left looking. I remember it like it was yesterday.

 

New Poem in Tincture Journal Issue 13

The lovely folk at Tincture Journal have once again published a piece of my writing. My poem ‘field officer no. 302’ appears in Issue 13 alongside many other wonderful pieces of writing. If you haven’t read Tincture Journal yet then this is a great issue to start with. There is a diverse range of quality content from – you guessed it – a diverse range of quality contributors!

If you’re looking for a taste-test then start with this ‘Two poems and an interview’ with Alison Whittaker, 2015 winner of the black&write! fellowship. Alison’s debut poetry collection Lemons in The Chicken Wire is out now with Magabala Books.

I also enjoyed reading Megan McGrath’s new column: Making Noise, in which Megan talks about early-career literary jealousy (I know plenty of writers who can identify with this – myself included!) and how to harness it in a positive way. Megan was a fellow winner of the 2015 QLD Premier’s Young Publishers and Writers Award.

Some other highlights in this issue of Tincture include David Stavanger’s poem ‘Life Is(n’t)’, Maria Arena’s short story ‘The Obliteration Rooms’ and Kathy George’s memoir ‘Read To Me’.

If you would like to support a wonderful literary journal (who wouldn’t?) then do consider subscribing to Tincture, or at the very least, grab yourself a copy of the latest issue here. Many thanks to Poetry Editor Stuart Barnes and Editor Daniel Young for picking up my piece and continuing to support great writing talent.

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