the poetry that matters

Sarah Schmidt

Sarah Schmidt is a writer from Melbourne, Australia. Her poetry has appeared in Verandah (ed 16) (Australia), and ditch, (Canada). In 2009 she received a Varuna publishing fellowship with Allen and Unwin for her first novel, Second Street. Sarah has a Bachelor of Arts (Creative writing and Editing) from Deakin University and has recently completed a Master of Arts by research (Creative writing) at RMIT University. She is currently working on two new novels and a short story collection.

The Long Conversation—Part I

Grandma: Is everything brighter? Me: It all seems the same. Grandma: Doesn’t it all seem to move

All that time ago when I was small and my feet were crescent
moons: I want to be that again.

                                               What is your colour

The gold sun and then quiet black

                                                What is that sound

Laughter: Come closer and listen in my ear
Do you hear it? That’s the long road

                                                What is your secret

My final pregnancy took thirteen months; my body didn’t know
how to let go

What else       Everything is over quicker
than you could imagine.
Sometimes I miss him

I stopped loving



You will grow too old for the body you were given                 It’s alright to close your eyes

                                                                                                                        My husband died.

                                                                                                                        Sometimes I miss him

Do you remember when you were born?                                                         Go into Dreams

                                                                                                I am the size of the moon.
                                                                                                Were you there the time we
                                                                                                walked the earth? Where did
                                                                                                we go? Did I enjoy it? I’m so
                                                                                                tired. And my hands—when
                                                                                                will you let your skin grow
                                                                                                over me? I want to be a
                                                                                                Let me tell you something:
                                                                                                humans            can’t                fly.


around a clock? Me: Maybe. Grandma: When was I your age? Look out that window.


                                                                                                                                April 25, 2011        Bookmark and Share