The anthology of Australian Women’s Poetry
fell quickly, according to the Introduction, into
the twelve sections. That you see here. There.
I was reading like a herbivore, eating pages.
Nature and Icons and Pregnancy and Birth.
Infancy, Sons & Daughters, Daily Grind, Loss.
Old Wives’ Tales, Mothers & Grandmothers,
The World and This Last Retreat. All neat.
I raised my head from the handsome book
and stared into the big whatwasmissing.
Where were the Fathers & Brothers?
Where were the Husbands & Lovers?
Where were those good looking bastards who
have had their way with me time and again?
Where was the delicious catastrophe of Men?