Sunrise, and West Footscray is almost pretty. Rosella rifle in grass lumpy with little hills and gullies. Story goes this ground sits atop a car dump.
Here one Sunday morning cheering on my son, a man with café latte breath slurps at me that a sinkhole opened up during a seniors match in the fifties.
Towards Tullamarine a plane rumbles, the traffic begins to hum and blow, I smell toast and walk home. (Paola Balla is a Wemba-Wemba & Gunditjmara woman, artist, mother, curator and educator who likes to tell stories)