there had been
no end of rumours of a coup.
plates kept clattering in the palace kitchen,
the linen-beaters worked strange hours,
people began to talk of a giant
stalking the city at night,
its rhythmic footfalls
lulling the dogs to sleep.
the linen would then be folded
and heaped in a cart
that left by the old gate,
grumbling over the mossy stones.
for days and days people waited,
reading every little incident as a sign,
until they could no longer discern
their sleeping from their waking state.
but nothing changed.
the lights burned brightly in the palace.
the clumsy girl in the kitchen
was finally let go.
Justin Lowe was born in Sydney but spent significant portions of his childhood on the Spanish island of Minorca with his younger sister and artist mother. He developed a penchant for writing poetry while penning lyrics for a string of bands, successful and not so, and has since been published all over the world. Justin currently resides in a house called ‘Doug’ in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney where he edits poetry blog Bluepepper.