Mess by Stephanie Powell

A country of laundry, held firm by pegs, parliament of our socks, the green towel, my red

swimsuit between the back door and the back fence,

even in winter I’m out here in the light shorts I wear to bed, pulling down the dry, but

dewy garments, face cloths as I need them

refilling a bucket of disintegrating pegs, thighs and calves freezing, barefoot, always

seeking a type of bearable pain

When I say it’s not a test, or be honest, I see you weighing your response, I pinch you and you won’t pinch back, don’t hold your punches, I think, I can take it

Perhaps I’m looking to rouse you from the calm sea where you live, in the end you put your

hands up, ask me to stop, I don’t want to hurt you

I sigh and let us return to the TV

It surprises me, catching infrequent moments of frustration, straying from affability, over

a pile of wet dishes, rubbing your palms together furiously because I’ve said something flippant and left the room

when I test the limits of your peace there is still a cornucopia of tasks and good work to put your hands to,

sometimes love forgets the reply, finishes the job

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Stephanie Powell is a poet based in Naarm / Melboiurne. She is the winner of the AAALS Prize 2025, the Woorilla Prize 2024 and the Ada Cambridge Prize for Poetry 2024.

Her latest collection of poems is Invisible Wasp (Liquid Amber Press, 2024). atticpoet.com