My crumpled iris-rim lip is her lip; the fine spoked wheel beneath my grimacing eye has etched itself deep with years upon her face. The wet red meat of my viscera is made of her, a shy-hood I cannot take off ... Why are you doing this to me?
What's more unfeasible? The dim prospect of churches selling off real estate to house and feed and clothe the homeless, or elephants, webskidding with zeal?
You can't have your cake if it's eaten. Or your cooked goose if it's no good for a gander. Golden eggs are useless in a fragile economy. And what goes up must keep going.
Virginia Bourke examines the assumptions that underlie equality in parenting and work.
Nick Way looks at the reasons behind poor morale among Victoria’s biggest union.
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