About P.S. Cottier
P.S. Cottier is a poet who lives in Canberra.
She is a previous winner of the Thunderbolt Prize in the poetry category, and her latest publication is Quick Bright Things: Poems of Fantasy and Myth.
She is a previous winner of the Thunderbolt Prize in the poetry category, and her latest publication is Quick Bright Things: Poems of Fantasy and Myth.
On Average by P.S. Cottier
Once a week it happens, as regular
as a Sunday roast, or a sad Monday
morning’s grey work cloak.
Sparked, perhaps, by curdled butter,
or Tuesday’s un-ironed shirt,
a small and passing flirtation
magnified to a universe, or a joke,
punched into deadly insult. Usually,
it’s just one blow harder than the norm;
a tad too deft (whether it be right or left).
But some women do fly from cliffs,
and learn the inarguable truth
of four-lettered words like ‘down’ and ‘stop’.
Wednesdays sometimes hear a gun’s retort,
or Thursdays gurgle between strong hands.
Now, if fifty were to be shot at once,
nouns like ‘massacre’ might flow,
but it’s just a quiet procession of Fridays,
enacted in fifty-odd closed homes.
One died, just last Saturday, here,
when a beloved team underperformed.
And all the prayers of all the Sundays
have yet to reach the needful ears.
’Over 12 months, on average, one woman is killed every week as a result of intimate partner violence.’ (White Ribbon website.)
as a Sunday roast, or a sad Monday
morning’s grey work cloak.
Sparked, perhaps, by curdled butter,
or Tuesday’s un-ironed shirt,
a small and passing flirtation
magnified to a universe, or a joke,
punched into deadly insult. Usually,
it’s just one blow harder than the norm;
a tad too deft (whether it be right or left).
But some women do fly from cliffs,
and learn the inarguable truth
of four-lettered words like ‘down’ and ‘stop’.
Wednesdays sometimes hear a gun’s retort,
or Thursdays gurgle between strong hands.
Now, if fifty were to be shot at once,
nouns like ‘massacre’ might flow,
but it’s just a quiet procession of Fridays,
enacted in fifty-odd closed homes.
One died, just last Saturday, here,
when a beloved team underperformed.
And all the prayers of all the Sundays
have yet to reach the needful ears.
’Over 12 months, on average, one woman is killed every week as a result of intimate partner violence.’ (White Ribbon website.)
