to you, Dad

It’s a hot day, sweaty, it’s somebody’s birthday, I don’t know who’s. I can’t remember, but given it’s so hot, I reckon it’s my little sister’s. Yes, it’s only September but this is Queensland. I sit on the front steps of our house. My nose is bleeding, hot days bring blood noses, and the blood has…

o’ brother, who are you?

Fatherhood seems to be a coat you shrug yourself into. It’s heavy, this coat, it’s navy-expensive and wool-warm, fresh off the rack, the coat is starchy. It will mould itself to the shape of its wearer in time. The coat of fatherhood is thick, you’ve got to stand tall to wear it properly. Pockets-deep, stiff…

nobody does coffee like she did

In less than a week it will be three years since my little sister died. How something can feel like an eternity and be remembered as if it was yesterday is beyond me. Still, I’m all about the good times now. I almost never cry, not because it’s not sad, it’s bloody sad for a…