Mount Gravatt Cemetery Suite

Isa Velasquez


we noticed your home empty

your neighbour, our abuelita

meanwhile had pearls adorning her neck

collected beach relics lacing her shoulders

lichen had grown over your stone,

branches blocked your name


we share our gifts with you

we always bring something extra for Olga,

the forgotten woman

other graves bloom with roses, lilies, and peonies

yours holds bark and dead gumtree leaves fallen from the canopy above


“Always Remembered”

irony at its finest


how often are you visited I wonder?

is the day about you or are you an errand?

an asterisk written in blue biro

a reminder at the bottom of a grocery list


*visit mum


six feet under two years before I was born

I just missed her


my brother tells me wonderful stories

surprise toys, ice-cream for breakfast

twenty-four years old, a grown man

he still sleeps with the cobija she gave to him as a child

everyone knows his special blanket

he gets angry when mama washes it

he’s afraid it will lose its long-gone scent

her flowery smell


mama says I got her possum eyes

mama says I hold myself like her

soft, feminine, graceful

maybe that’s why I wear sundresses

pointed heels, delicate rosaries, and pink lips

mama says I got her quiet

mama says I am kind like her

maybe that’s why I speak so sweetly,

pretty words, gentle gestures, a loving heart


tears leaking under my covers

I create my own ocean in the darkness

she holds me as I cry over someone I’ve never met

Author: Isa Velasquez is an aspiring poet, currently studying at QUT. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing but who does?

Editors: David Farr and Grace Harvey