Words by Sarah, 29 VIC
Clouds call the dust
by name,
grass, what’s left of it
begging for relief
from the dry.
We heard it coming,
freight train of heat
and embers,
ready to clear its path,
lay the world down.
Licked the cattle on the legs,
told us to choose
it was the house or us.
We see it in our sleep
blood-red and raging,
the men in Canberra
lay still,
stay quiet.
Illustration by Aileen, You can find more of her work on Instagram @aileenetc
