Poets’ Pub readings: Alana Kelsall

Poems written and read by Alana Kelsall.

Beauty salon

She pushes open the door of the salon
she knows she hasn’t been for ages but
she hates the smell of hairspray
and the hot drip of wax
Look at you! says the beautician
your hair’s all straggly
where’ve you been?
Well  I’ve been on holiday
Oof! says the beautician
hair doesn’t know it’s a holiday

Fires

Once  pinned to the Western Highway again
my older sister at the wheel   my other sister and I
slumped in the back
the farm and term holidays just a few hours away
I longed not to arrive   not to find my place
at the fire   nor the fierce fire of all their faces
the photos lining the walls
the fire reflected in my father’s face
as he held the carving knife and my mother served up
and all her words like so many sparks in the updraught
from the fire   I wanted to stop
in one of those small towns we passed through
stumble round the edges of uncertainty   like spring
before it becomes a season
think of setting out
the idea of strength and passion the first words   soft and careful