M. F. McAuliffe was born and educated in South Australia and Victoria.
Her fiction and poems have appeared in The Clarion Awards, Overland, Australian Short Stories, Prairie Schooner,Poezija (Zagreb), TheWriting Disorder,Unlikely Stories Mark V, and other print and online venues.
Co-author of the poetry collection Fighting Monsters and of the limited edition artist’s book, Golems Waiting Redux, she is author of The Crucifixes and Other Friday Poems, the novella Seattle, the story cycle I’m Afraid of Americans and the chapbook 25 Poems On The Death Of Ursula K. Le Guin. A long-time resident of Portland, Oregon, she co-founded and co-edits at the Portland-based, completely multilingual journal Gobshite Quarterly and at its offshoot press, Reprobate/GobQ Books.
I don’t know what any of it means
sword arm aching, rebelling from the wrist
illness never quite reaching retching or infarct
never quite reaching the stomach or the heart
only the seat of longing for rest, peace, cease
All in make-up; all clean; all with their hands hanging by their sides because they can’t agree on a common prayer-book so they’ve brought none at all; all in their best sudden-funeral clothes, they all file off like dark cemetery pines along a roadside fence; all silent, all frightened, they all file off.
I come to work at seven-thirty. I start and seven-thirty and finish at four. We get half an hour for lunch.
As you walk down the corridor it gets shabbier and shabbier: the carpet turns from light green to dark; the rooms get darker; the carpet ends and becomes tan and pink lino; the tan and pink lino ends. Our lino is two shades of grey. Our office is woodwork-teacher furniture, old typewriters and four time clocks. All the time clocks are wrong.