My star sign? Tangara

Blacktown Seven Hills Westmead Parramatta Granville Clyde Auburn

a tantrum turned mantra

bana bak,

senin ağızına sıçarım

Get the fuck out of here. You can just leave

if you’re too good for this family.


Alright. I train it,

the wog out of my throat

tourniquet my tongue

hold it out flat to capture fat droplets

of the rain in Spain

and give every parado on the metro

exactly one euro


Milson’s Point

mistakes me for a waitress when I pour his prosecco

I realise there’s a way to be polite uncultured

wiping the length of my sleeve he explains

a real up-and-comer

would go back to where they came from.

Go West!

Don’t be a wanderer, be a Wanderer


Alright. I train it back

plastic sticking to my damp arse crack. Although it’s autumn

I’m cooked. Because now I note the race

of each passenger that alights at the interchange

where I’m over being determined by culture

meets I’m over-determined by culture.

Pick roses in the back yard,

out of bushes I’ve read about,

in the books I went east for.

Her yer çamur


My parents still call me sarışın.

I reckon they know I’m only blond

here, where the sun hits me at the right angle,

when it comes in from the west.


Lidcombe Strathfield Burwood Redfern




all out all change








Eda Gunaydin is a writer and researcher from Western Sydney. She has been a WestWords Emerging Writers’ Fellow and finalist for the Monash University Undergraduate Creative Writing Prize and the Scribe Nonfiction Prize for Young Writers. Catch her other work in Voiceworks, The TJ Eckleburg Review, and Tincture Journal.

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