Live Encounters Poetry & Writing May 2026
Return to the sender, poems by Dominique Hecq.
Return to sender
Whiff of perfume. When I lie down on the couch my dreams slip away.
The analyst is a white lilac tree with fleshy nipples. A honeysuckle abuzz
with bees. A cherry tree puffing under the weight of plump redness. I
have much to do today, he says. But I love you. Speak, my love. A bird
crashes into the window and drops on the back veranda, wings spread
out, beak wide open. I cup my palms over its ribcage. Feel its heart throb.
I touch the analyst’s hand. It’s warm. The two of us, he says. Sunday. My
father picks his teeth. I watch his ears. They quiver with each movement
of his jaw. Large, fleshy ears stuck to his skull. Curly. Lots of creases and
grooves. Furry and hollow in the middle. Furry funnels. My silent words
pour in there. Cascade. But my father’s ears are deaf to my calls. Two
massive doors with a locked safety screen each, a keyhole, peephole, bell
and knocker. No mailbox.
Scenes from Ghent
H. G. Wells unplugs his ears
On each new moon, clockwork oranges unnumber our days. We pull
down our lower eyelids in turn and smash an opaque contact lens onto
each of our eyeballs – no mirror. Because every calorie fights for its life,
we scaffold our life around sleep. Munch ginger, garlic, hemp seeds,
blackberries and macadamia nuts. We block blue lights. Embrace plume
growth therapy. Discard quantum mechanics, smart phones, antibiotics
and vaccines. We scoff at the idea of electromagnetic spectrum and AI.
We’re hooked on Ozempic and metabolically cold plunge in diatonic
scales. Soon, we’ll wing sororal songs between Aeaea and Scylla, rocking
vessels with white ink and limestone breath from microbiome to velour
galaxies. I will slam my hands over my ears, my shadow over her eyes.
With ears to see and eyes to hear, we are beauty that seduces the soundest
for after silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible
is music.
Note: ‘After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music’
is a citation from H. G. Wells.
Dominique Hecq is a widely anthologised and award-winning poet, fiction writer, essayist and translator. She lives and works on Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung land. Hecq writes in English and French. Her creative works comprise a novel, six collections of short stories and nineteen books of poetry, of which Errances is the latest (Recent Work Press, 2026).