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Clare Rankine

Article

Things That Helped

I want to have children, I do. Every Friday evening, after work, I catch the two four six bus down punt road. On the bus, there is a girl my age. I’ve never see her face because she sits up the front in the priority seat, and I sit in the back. She wears her hair cut short, she listens to music, sometimes she calls her mum. Her baby sleeps in his pram slowly rocked by her hand.

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Article

An Interview with Caitlin Shearer

On a gentle summer Monday I take the tram to Brunswick to visit fashion designer Caitlin Shearer at her studio—Toast Workroom, a female run communal space. Warm, smiling, she invites me in and makes me a cup of lemongrass tea. She looks like an…

Story

Walking Barry to Ballet

Three weeks ago, on that Thursday, I wake to find I am sunburnt. Circles of red pink snake around my thighs. Later, after we leave the hospital, Barry presses his fingers into my skin. The marks glow white and fade.…

Poem

sweet

and in the afternoon I sit and read and watch the strip of my neighbourhood sky with crane…

Story

silver thread

The family tree had been hand painted in gold leaf on a wall of soft lavender. Three hundred years of life connected by silver thread. Twenty two year old Prince Jim, the latest addition, sat with his legs crossed on the Palace floor, looking…

Poem

the rip

the wave breaks fast and she sees her brother on the boogie board semicircling she sees his children on the sand yell from their castle and all is an interlude…

Story

alien

The dress was blue with purple, silver, green sequins. Fish scales. And when she touched it, she could feel it tremble from its past life. Sequins came off and stuck to sweaty fingertips. She would squeeze into this dress tonight, seams would gently tear…

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