Joanne Stead

Macy started it one late Saturday night when they were all slightly inebriated. Slipping away with Fisher’s iPhone, she had him signed up for Tinder in a flash. The others were quickly brought in on the joke and later, when Fisher checked his messages to find “18 shared interests, only 1 mile away!” the look on his face was totally worth it. “It was just a little fun between friends”, Macy said, as Fisher turned a deeper shade of purple, “perhaps you’ll meet someone nice af

Dad may or may not have been in the wrong, but when mum thought he was, there was no avoiding the sermon. Mum had it all, booming righteousness, fire and brimstone, and someone (Dad) was always going to hell if he didn't mend his sorry ways... We had no need for church in our house. We had the full package right here. Dad bowed his head and kept his mouth shut. Experience had taught us all that there was no point arguing back. Contrite regret was the way to go. Ride out the

Aunty sits weaving. She pulls the thin white hairs from one end of the pandanus grass and peels them slowly, carefully into long strips. I watch her gather them together, twist them tightly, lovingly. Her tongue clicks as she sings an ancient rhythm and works the strands into a tightly woven circle. (I am a stranger here, but I feel embraced, nurtured in this community.) Aunty speaks of old times and I sit with the children at her feet, mesmerised by the tempo of the movem