“Barton compresses theory, lived experience and explorations of race and gender in her highly crafted poems, achieving precision and potency.
In Barton’s finely wrought poetry, defamiliarisation as an act of decolonisation is utilised to effectively restate and reclaim. What is evident in her writing is a deeply intelligent awareness of the poetics of being.”
- Claire Gaskin
Budja Budja
a mountain gully calling you like Alison Whittaker’s
white linen at Hanging Rock
calling you like you’re not supposed to be there
like you can’t see the blindness in your own eyes
you crawl through rock crevice without water
in the un-light of a stone cave
notions slip between gaps
history between people,
an un-mendable menace
an old whisper caught in the air
swallowed into the lungs
shadow footsteps just behind
you reach for rock edges with a hot dry arm
black eyes burn on white skin
tiny spirals coil from a dirt ground
the sun long on orange pebble stretches
the still quiet
waterfall on green
moss shallow windless
valley
you said you wouldn’t mind dying next to her but you’re not next to her
a baby rumbles in her belly