Everywhere But Here

Hannah James

I do not know the name of a flower that isn’t a rose, 

or a tulip, or something as starkly obvious 

as a sunflower, helianthus annuus

the blooming flowerheads bend

to meet the rising sun, then modulate west,

always following, or so they thought, 

but once they mature,

their circadian rhythm changes, 

they stop tracking 

and become engrossed in the east–

I never think to look to the wild grass

where I tread, to pause and take in something foreign

growing irrespectively, 

and ask for its name,

maybe tomorrow I will

pray to nothing but the pulse and

silence the strings of violins playing in me,

so as to not reverberate into astronomical dusk,

the sky submerged in violet, brooding and waiting 

anxiously for the shadow of night to fall, I will track 

the last trace of gold draped over the river

in the distance, and most of all not miss you 

long before you leave, as you laugh 

right across from me  

Author: Hannah is a Creative Writing and Law student at QUT. She enjoys unravelling the human experience in all its wonderful and frustrating complexity through fiction and poetry.

Editors: Willow Ward and Hannah Vesey