by Jill Martindale Farrar
In the middle of the night I’m a child again, hungry as a cockroach lonely as a fly — The frog, frightened too sings to itself Or listens to the night as Mother Superior counts beads with cold hands. Afraid of roll call I wait to hear my name instead hear fruit bats’ violet cries — We move towns, night flight over a necklace of lights, the city seen from a two-seater Cessna — toy cars and a milk truck so tiny so far down my eyes might break off and scatter like glass beads lost in the rain.
Jill Martindale Farrar is a published poet, journalist, scholar, fiction writer and visual artist. She has an Honours degree in English Literature from University of Sydney and a Masters Degree and PhD in Creative Writing from University of Western Sydney. Her visual art practice includes painting, works on paper, ceramics and fiber arts. Her work, Men on Men received first prize in the 2018 Shoalhaven Mental Health Arts Prize and she was awarded honourable mention in the NOW Contemporary Art Prize 2017. She lives on the South Coast of NSW.