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From: Vol.07 N.02 – Writing in the Pause

With words like doom-scrolling …

by Julie Maclean

what century are we in? What time is it?


From across the closed world you tell me

you imagine your bookshelf as a row of edible leaves.


I order my days as a Vermeer woman in an apron—

baking bread, taking time to make the bed, the one I lie on


drowning in white noise I call the Hum.

The other day, I don’t know which one, I heard a call.


It was new to my garden.

I wanted to understand how Time had lodged itself


in that black-capped turn

of a curious head. It had one eye cocked


giving me the time of day

before setting off on some miraculous migration.


Or was it, like me, here to stay?


In some loose part of me I hoped it would never end—

this day, this reckoning sky


now open to conversations with small things

climbing stairs an hour each day


my solo trek to the top of the mountain

enough oxygen to make my way down

Published: October 2020
Julie Maclean

Julie Maclean’s poetry, fiction and reviews have appeared in Griffith Review, Best Australian Poetry, Cordite Poetry Review, Island, Overland, Plumwood Mountain, Poetry (Chicago), Rabbit and Southerly. She is the author of four pamphlets and one full collection, When I saw Jimi, Indigo Dreams, UK (joint winner of the Geoff Stevens Memorial Poetry Prize, UK).

An Australian and international
journal of ecopoetry and ecopoetics.

Plumwood Mountain Journal is created on the unceded lands of the Gadigal and Wangal people of the Eora Nation. We pay our respects to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, and to elders past, present and future. We also acknowledge all traditional custodians of the lands this journal reaches.