Chinatown Journal

SPRING

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Samantha Purvis... 1
Kate Duckney... 3
Mason Bondi... 4
Leo Hunt... 5
Melissa Hohl... 6
Alessandro Powell...7
Vanessa Saunders... 8
Andy Stallings... 9
Mason Bondi... 10
Samuel Rowe... 11

Confetti
waitingisanenchantment:Ihavereceivedordersnottomove
RolandBarthes,ALoversDiscourse

Themorningarrivedwhenitwastimeforherboyfriendtogotravellingandshewentwithhim
totheairport.Intheotherwisedesertedcarriageofatrainrattlingthroughthecitytheysat
acrosstheaislefromeachother.Thetrainburstoutofatunnelintothedazzlingyellowofa
summermorningandthenslidbackintodarkness.Itwascoolinawaythatsuggesteditwould
behotlater.Attheairportshesaidgoodbyetohiminanechoingwhitespacebetweenthe
escalatorsandthecheckin,thenwatchedhimlopeawayclutchingthestrapsofhisbackpack.
Bythetimesheembarkedonhersolitaryjourneyhomeitwashot,midmorning,thetrain
carriagesemptyagain.
Athome,thepanesofcolouredglassinthefrontdoorcastawarmparallelogramof
greenonthefloorboards.Shewentuptoherbedroomandlaydown.Itwassoquietthatshe
couldhearthehumofthefridgedownstairs.Eventuallyshesleptanddreamedthatshecould
seetheworldthroughhiseyes,driftingoutofsleephourslatertothemutedsoundsoftraffic
andchurchbellstollingsix.Shewentovertothewindowandheaveditopen.Abovethe
gleamingleadroofstherewasnothing,orwhatpassedfornothing:acranedippinginthe
emptysky,astreakofvapourwhereaplanehadgonepast.
Directly below her there was a battered Allegro idling in the street. Her nextdoor
neighbours,agroupofboysfromuniversity,wereloadingthecarwithboxesandsuitcases.A
couple of pot plants and a tatty leather bean bag sat on the pavement. Eventually the
neighboursfinishedloading,gotinandslammedthedoors.Thecarpulledaway,afugofblue
exhaustfumeslingeringbehindinthestillair.
Herfriendswerealltravellingorathomewiththeirparentsfortheholidays.Herplan
wastogetajobortrytofinishhernovel,butthisfirsteveningwithouthimshedriftedfrom
herlaptoptothefridgeandbackagain,pausingtosmokeoutofthebackdoorandwatchthe
neighbourscatskulkthroughthehighgrasses.
Withnobodyintownandlittlemoneytospendshesoonbecamebored.Onedayshe
finallysatdowntolookattheuniversityjobswebsiteandfoundanemailfromhim,hisfirst
communicationsinceleavingoveraweekago.Hehadntwrittenanything,butattacheddozens
ofimages.Asshewasclickingthroughthem,anotificationfloatedupfromthebottomofthe
screensignallingasecondemail.Thenathird,afourth,untilarunof(nosubject)sfilledthe
entirefirstpageofherinbox.Ofthethirtypictures,notasingleoneshowedhisfacehewas

alwaysbehindthelens.
Inthemorning,thephotoshadformedathinfilmoverhervision,tintingeverythingthe
hazyelectricblueofaShanghaitwilight.Ghostlyredshapesroseupinfrontofher,asif
someonehadlitafieldofskylanternsinherkitchen.Shedriftedthroughherdayswithnoreal
senseofhowmuchtimewaspassing,theonlymarkersbeinghershortSkypeconversations
withhim.Therewerealwaysanonymoustshirtsleevesinthecorneroftheshot,afriend
waitingforhimtofinishsotheycouldgooffanddosomething;shecouldnevertellifitwasa
boyoragirl.
In a supermarket that seemed empty for a Saturday evening, she drifted between aisles
collectingtheingredientsforhermeal:salmonfillets,abulbofgarlic,afreshlemon,ajarof
honey.Whenshecametopayforherfood,thecashierscannedthebarcodesinslowmotion.
Herelderlyneighbourwasqueuingatthenextcashregisteralong.Althoughshehad
neverseenhimbeforethissummer,sheoftenranintohimnowinthesupermarketoronthe
bus,asifshehadfallenintotheslowrhythmoflifehedbeenkeepingto.Shecaughtupwith
himontherampdowntothecarparkandoffertotakeoneofhisbags.Theyspokeinsmall
bursts,andthentheconversationdiedout.Astheyapproachedthetopofthehill,shesawthat
thecavernousblueskywasimprintedwiththeimageofatemple.Thebuildingdriftedacross
thehorizonandvanished.
Hello?herneighboursaid.
Theyhadreachedhisgardengate,infactshehadgoneslightlypastit.Beeshovered
aroundthelavenderbush,hazyintheeveningfug.
Sorry,Iwasmilesaway.
Inside,heaskedifshewantedsomethingtodrinkand,withoutwaitingforherreply,
shuffledoutofthebackdoortofetchsomelemonade.Throughthewhitenedwindowshe
watchedhimheaveopenthedoorofhisgarageandmeldintothediminterior.Sheleanedback
againstthecountertopandherarmtouchedsomethingsticky.Theplasticbagsofshopping
stoodonthetable,thehandlesstrainingupwardsasifsomeonewasstillholdingthem.She
wentoverandstartedtounpackthem.
Asshedidso,shebecameawarethatshehadheardherphonegooffsometimeago,
whentheyfirstcameintothehouse.Theslownessoftherealisationdisturbedher.Theairwas
adenseambershewassuspendedin.Shetookthephoneoutofherpocket.Shesawanimage
onthescreen.Themancamebackintothekitchenandpouredheraglassoflemonadewhich
tastedtoosweetandsharp.Theytalkedforawhileandthenshesaidshehadtoleave.
Athomeshesawthedirtinherhouseforthefirsttime:thecobwebdanglingfromthe
bareandmilkylightbulb,thespecksofblackmouldaroundtheglaucouseyeofthewashing
machine, the shine of grease on the countertop. She wandered into the lounge, where the
diffuselightthroughthewhitecurtainsblurredoutimperfections.Shetookoutherphoneand
lookedatthephotographagain.
Itwasapictureofhimwithhisarmaroundamiddleagedladyatsomekindoffestival.
Theimagewasstartlinglyclearonthesmallscreenofherphone;inthebackgroundshecould
make out a trestle table laden with roasted meat, dumplings, cloud bread, boiled sweets.
BeyondthataBodhitreescrapeditsbrowngreyfingersagainstastonewall.Threeblursof

colouracrosstheforegroundresolvedthemselvesintopiecesofconfetti.Thepicturequality
wassohighthatshecouldseetheslightshadowwhereeachstripofcolouredpapercurled
slightlyasitfell.Bothherboyfriendandthe ladywerelaughingatsomethingthe person
behindthecamerahadsaid.
Atinypieceofpaperfellfromtheceilingandcametorestonhershoe.Shelookedup.
Anotherpieceofconfettifluttereddown,paleyellow,andgrazedhernose.Thenaflurryof
glitterburstaboveherheadandmadetheairshimmer.Moreconfettiwasfallingnow:itcame
downinlazyspirals,sycamoreseedsinslowmotion,andleftherskintinglingwhereitseemed
totouchher.Itcollectedinmulticolouredsnowdriftsinthecornersoftheroom,bankedup
againstthelegsofthechairsandfloatedontheglasssurfaceofthecoffeetable.Sheopened
herarms,amoviestarinasuddendownpour,buttheconfettidancedawayfromhertouch.A
gentlehubbubofvoicesrosearoundher.Shecouldntmakeoutthewords,buttheyseemedto
besayingthathewasnevercomingback.

Samantha Purvis

Essence
Ithinkwedrink
ourassociationsthewayourbodies
drinkwateritstruewehaveto
suckwhatweremadeof
orwedie
quitesimplydeath
forawomanisexactlythis
thecryofcorporealbitch
underagreatgreen
gasmoon
mybodyleaks
intotheslant
wheretheshadowofmydog
shouldbe&forms
acadaverousnude
whoseheadshatters

andregathersonsteps

Kate Duckney

Fig Tree
IsplitlogsonawetDecembermorning
exposingrottenwoodahunt
forsalamandersturneddestructive
shewonderedwhyIwasredinthecheekandcalm
sheknewIwasanarmbiter
sohardhedroppedmewithoutasoundinserting
theballpointintotheappleturningit
thewoundwashidden
Ifoundmyownvoice
tobekeenerthanthefigtree
theredwoodgroveinDecember

Mason Bondi

The Conceptual Arts

Sheistherecipientofdeliriousreviewsinallthehighbrowperiodicals.Shehastaken
thesoundofatreegrowingandtrappeditinaglasscase.Shehaswrittenapoem
namedEmpireofSand,whichchangeseverytimeyoureadit.
Idonotunderstandherart.Idonotunderstandherabilitytomakeitrain
merelybyforgettingherumbrella.
Wehaverehearsedhernewperformancepiece.Ikneelonthegroundandshe
pushesherhandthroughmybody.Herarmpiercesmybackandexitsthroughmy
mouth.Myheartisheld,stillbeating,inherhand.Thefloorisnotstainedbyblood.

Aplasticsheetcracklesbeneathmyknees.Beyondthefishtankwallsofglass,Ihear
applause.

Leo Hunt

The party
Adarkroomsomeonedancesinit
streetlightsoutsideshinethereisahalo
thathoversoverallthatisleft
Thisisholyworkathingweveseen
crawloutofbodies
Wesendletterssomeonedancesinadarkdark
roomrepeatingsoundsuntildawn

Indreams
allofasuddenthetrees

Melissa Hohl

Thee
Shadows trapeze
across windows
they breeze
by like light
motes moving
in half-tones

down the hallway now your

fingers run down
said vortex of hues
--I was so sure
that was you--hell
I saw you yawn
between said beams
of dawn-light and
last nights sand is
dusky, you know,
as in still
in my eye, is
that last touch,
how you say
goodbye, or all
morning; I longed
to caress the
Aztec temples of
thy cheeks again,
once more,
in case you didnt
wake before me.

Freud
YesterdayIwalkedouttothewater.IsawFreudstandingoutwherethecliffdropsoff
suddenly.Hedidn'tlookatme,hejuststaredoutattheocean.
Hesuffersfromgravity.Ihadtotalkhimdown.Don'tleaveusbehind,Isay.Yourangeris

righteoushoweveryoucannotlettheangergetoutofhand.Hesays,Howcanthepeople
sleep?Idon'tknow.Hewantstobealone.Iamafraidtogivehimwhathewants.

Vanessa Saunders

:::
Bannershunginwinter.

Noonetoholdtheladder.
Asoldiertells
theprofitmargin
andthetax.
Inastation,in
astation,welllit
emptyshopsstocked
fordeparture.
Achildtells
thedatetoorient
absentbodiesto
theirdestinations.
Ridingonetrain
throughwinter
tocatchanother.

Andy Stallings

Mock Orange

JulynightsIeasethewindowopenwithmyfoot
waitforthefirstrollofcoolness.
windinthemockorange
anditslostfingerprintsofspring
soonthemockorangeisshivering
sticksatthewindow.Time
passesthingscroakandplop
thatnailinthewallheldsomething
butthestringofsenseuntied
asthemockorangebloomed
tragedy

Mason Bondi

Enamel Moon
Whatisthemoon
becoming?Onenight
itturned
enamelfilling
myeye.Ifound
myselfopen.Set
inthewheatfield
behindourhouse.
Acloudmoved
moonwardsandit
winkedopenwith
aglintandtogether
thewheatheads
trembled.Mythroat
openedthrough
silvernightbisecting
thelupinemoon.Asound
togrindteeth
against.Myspread
teethtworows
ofgleamingmoons.
Nightblindthewheat
headstrembled
pushedairinto
airturningthemoon
fasterunwaning.
Rainfallensilver
tothewheatheads
linkingmouthto
silver.White
thewheatheads

lockedtogether
likesomany
lunarfangs.Theglinting
moonasideways
grinontheopenfield
SamuelRowe