Issue Eighteen

CONVERSATION

Centre for Stories staff Sisonke Msimang, Savannah Travia-Dann, and Luisa Mitchell yarn about their ‘First Stories’ project, a partnership between First Nations and culturally and linguistically diverse communities across Western Australia to build lasting relationships, storytelling skills, and healing. 

PROSE - EMMA-LEE MAHER

I feel hope crossing over the Fremantle Bridge on my commute to work. I’m a little heavy on the brake; the corners of my eyes crusted with sleep—fuel light on. Every morning over the last month, no matter the weather, a woman stands on the footpath holding a Vote Yes sign.

PHOTO ESSAY - ROBYN JEAN

Robyn Jean's photo essay examines the connection between First Nations people and Country. She captures the practice of digging for honey ants. An elder and her daughter take a group of young people on Country and demonstrate how to listen to the earth.

POEM - AMANDA BELL

A black out poem created from a draft literature review, Breaking Through the Fire, by Luisa Mitchell and Sisonke Msimang.

POEM - AIREVBOWAN OLAGHERE

Here I am, in Boorloo, on Whadjuk Noongar Country,  
after decades of wandering  
from red earth towns, island winds,  
and cities where prayer rose before sunrise.  

VANESSA CORUNNA & LAKSHMI KANCHI

For me, listening to our boodja has become deeper with time and age. My Whadjuk way for listening is based on my own cultural knowing and responding to the land. 

POEM - SISONKE MSIMANG

I'm from corn row braids and hopscotch 

skinny legs playing until its almost dark 

I’m from say your times tables and my father’s red pen crossing out mistakes  

PROSE - TYLER DEAKIN-THOMAS

I am always listening – to others’ stories, to conversations being held by strangers, to the ticking of the clock, to the news. I think my brain can’t filter out noise to focus on the most important noises. All this external input is constantly impacting my internal world.

PICTURE BOOK - CAT CIRAULO

Toodle-oo is a picture book about the funeral of the narrator’s nanna. In this story, we learn that this is the narrator’s first time attending a funeral.

POEM - RANDA KHAMIS

I lay cradled in the land of my mother –  
I lay with two ears on either side,  
ready to receive  

two varying signals. 

POEM - KAYA ORTIZ

a body planted like a seed. i do not stay to see what grows, but i spend years dreaming of coconut palms. tita ruth sings hymns at the kitchen table, her hand conducting an invisible choir.