Red-sand casket of land,
backflipped branches, khaki punches of leaves,
Maralinga in new narrative
as military nouns bounce on the land;
seven nuclear bombs
like dark spinning wheels,
like balled-up shadows,
like polite anarchism:
darkly radiating
3000 square kilometres of land.
The fruit trees, the black oak woodland,
Scrub Cyprus pine;
separated as ideas,
tombs and different languages,
close to aneurysm
& stunted hemispheres.
Maralinga in a new narrative,
ruled by Mamu.
“Like sheep to a slaughterhouse.” This is how Behrouz Boochani, in his memoir No Friends But the Mountains, describes the experience of being thrown behind the prison walls of the Manus detention centre. After a month of being incarcerated on Manus Island in Papua New Guinea, Boochani writes that he felt like “a piece of […]
Imagine not being able to afford a single phone call to your family. That’s the reality for people in Australian prisons. Monique Hurley and Sarah Schwartz explain why phone calls in prison should be free.
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