Sue King-Smith

Sue King-Smith is cur­rently com­plet­ing a PhD in Cre­ative Arts at Deakin Uni­ver­sity. For three years, she was the co-editor of The Ani­mist, an elec­tronic arts ezine that has been archived by the National Library as part of the Pan­dora Project. In the past few years, she has had poems pub­lished in var­i­ous jour­nals includ­ing, Famous Reporter, The Par­adise Anthol­ogy, Tar­ralla, Blue Giraffe, Woo­rilla, Pen­du­lum, Oban ‘06 and Tamba and she has had essays pub­lished in JASAL and Linq. Her first col­lec­tion of poetry, An Accu­mu­la­tion of Small Killings, will be pub­lished by MPU in early 2008.



Swim­ming the Unconscious

Before degrees of sep­a­ra­tion,
we swam the mire, quick-silver dark
with pores as porous
as water. Schools of fish caught us
in col­lec­tive dart­ing tides,
all of a mind, sin­gu­lar, no beyond
or out­side and we rode the slid­ing
frac­tals of exis­tence. Open­ing rice-paper
wings in uni­son, and ris­ing
into flight we soared the cur­dling
updrafts and hung like tiny origami
mar­i­onettes, guid­ing strings
unseen. Migrat­ing south we bounded
down a mob of kan­ga­roos, eyes slight
for dan­gers, our sinewy legs
like springs. Life was a small
f low­ered chaos and we duck-dived
kalei­do­scopic centres.

Some­times still, syn­chronic­ity swims
through ether, and you send
me an email, and I send you a book,
that cross unlikely paths in
cyber­space. And they speak the
same lan­guage, tell the same story,
and we laugh across the coin­ci­dence
that is not coin­ci­dence at all. (We shared
a pri­mor­dial womb once.) And at night, still,  
we dive head-first into waters embry­onic
and old as time, swim­ming the