Still Practising

I wonder if you’re still practising
if you still spend your time telling people
“I don’t think you’ll see your next birthday”
I saw you once, or maybe twice, and you seemed well past middle-aged
I wonder if you’re still practising finding the right words
juggling clinical detachment with quiet sympathy
or did you master that skill many years ago
I wonder if you’re still practising being the one who has to say out loud
what no one else even dares to whisper
I wonder if you’re still practising fighting a losing battle on a daily basis
I wonder if you’re still practising forgetting the faces
of those who just never made another appointment
I like to imagine you retired and remembering
the ones you helped to win

Every Conversation

I haven’t heard your voice in so many years

and I can’t remember how it sounds

the only place it’s recorded is on a wedding video
from long ago
a tape that technology has rendered obsolete

footage that I can't see
even if I wanted to

which I don’t

I can smell your perfume

I can look at photos

and remain composed
they're scents and scenes
for my senses

but when I try to unearth your voice

it’s like it’s been erased from my memory

as if every conversation we ever had

is now a silent movie
I suppose it's somewhere buried deep
and I have truly tried to dig

but I know if I could hear you speak

it would all come back

and

I

would

crack

My Duck Pond

Children seek to find a secret place

where their minds can trace outlines

for the imagination to colour in

where magic is no myth

and no story too elaborate

to be true

children seek to find a secret garden

a place that no adult has discovered

to uncover a door to days of make-believe

where they can not so much as hide

but be unobserved

When I sit on a rock by my pond

I recognise this place from my childhood fantasies

families of ducks paddle past

like a Spanish armada

and feed and swim at my feet

and I breath in so deep

because I finally found the secret door

the one I wanted more

than anything else as a child
to find

the one that led me to here

where I can not so much as hide

but be unobserved

Heaven

Arms and legs splayed out

as if to make a snow angel

limbs weightless

you drift untethered in space

an enormous visor obscures your face

but in its reflection the shuttle can be seen

and I imagine conspiracy theorists

searching the image for signs of a set-up

a Hollywood studio concoction

sanctioned by the government

to pull a swifty on the people

but I believe you

swam

completely and utterly devoid of any attachment to Earth

and I wonder if you would have minded

if you couldn’t have made your way back

destined to slow-spiral forever

like a plastic bag on a windy day

“to touch the face of God” they say

well, I’m not sure he is that close

or even that far away

One Sixteenth Greek

We throw compliments back and forth between ourselves

like a bottle of wine being passed around a circle of friends

taking turns to swig

we make sincere and sweet and supportive statements

the essence and elixir of friendship

and we teach ourselves to swallow the other’s good opinion of us

and we learn to trust we each mean what the others say about us

and we learn not to listen to the voice that says

“they’re just saying that”

these words are powerful

these words bolster

make us believe

we are what others see we are

and some unexpected compliments stay with me

and puncture through my doubt and disbelief

when you told me my hands look pretty when I talk

you made me feel like the most beautiful girl

that ever gesticulated

The Colour Of A Grated Carrot

A dedication to the colour of a grated carrot

Such vibrancy!

such vividness!

how can that even be from nature’s own making?

is it in the grating?

does that release extra carotene?

has the colour been

written about before

by poets of yore?

or

has the task been left to me

to describe eloquently

how just amazingly bright

the sight of a freshly grated carrot is?

A Decline

It suddenly became all too apparent

just what she had declined

when she decided to

not take him up on what she thought he was offering

love, marriage, companionship

together ever after

although there was no

formal proposal

she's supposing that’s what she declined

they could have gone all the way to the top

but she declined

the pinnacle of everything she wanted

but she declined

so close to touching

but she declined

so close to reaching

but she declined

turned around

went all the way down

a decline

Or Almost

I think, technically, I may be middle-aged.

or almost

if I fold my life over

like a piece of paper

and the crease is where I am now

then one edge is seventy

or almost

I would like to get old

it’s the only way I know to stay alive

I would love to be comfortable with

a body that is becoming an autumn leaf

the lines that will become deeper etched on my face

some describe as crow’s feet

but to me

they are trenches

dug out from years of battles

little victories and larger losses

furrowed brow

laughter lines

the sketches of a work in progress

“It’s a process”

they say

well, that’s okay with me

to live

is better than the alternative

A Water View

One day

I want to lounge on my deck and reflect

on the reflections of the ocean

as the sun’s rays reach the blue of the sky

and are refracted in the water

into what appears to be an infinite number of tea lights

lit up and floating on the sea’s surface

so harsh that sunglasses are a medical necessity

because to look out without them

could literally result in being blinded by the light

which would be a shame

to have a water view you couldn’t watch

you could still feel the breeze

so cooling and refreshing

like an enormous invisible oscillating fan

strong enough to send seagulls soaring

you could still smell the beach

a combination of salt and freedom and carelessness

you could still touch the sand

so soft, yet gritty

but it really would be a pity

if you couldn’t sit and watch the edge of your world

tip over the top

of its almost inconceivable horizon
and at night if I saw a light out in the darkness
when the moon makes the waves' ripples look like stairways to heavens
I would imagine the boat is manned by smugglers
looking to come ashore in a cove
because as we all know
smugglers only seek coves
not beaches or bays

and when night meets day

I want to lounge on my deck and reflect

on whether the reflections are jewels they dropped

as they made their way to shore

 

Pilgrimage

As we pulled into the carpark
to your beach
I said
"It does my heart good"
Then we walked to the water
and the sand was so baking hot
that taking off shoes would have to wait
so we stood and assessed the erosion
then made our way closer to the waves
and headed south

In your sand with my hand I drew a heart
took a photo, couldn't see the screen, so missed a part
and then we made a start
for home

I asked if he enjoyed the visit
I'm pretty sure he didn't
because he replied: "In my own inimitable way"

Perseverance

The technology they have these days
will take your breath away
I saw footage of a caterpillar that
for fourteen years
froze to death then was reborn
when the summer warmed its blood
and melted the ice that had stopped its heart from beating
For fourteen years it furiously fought to build a cocoon
but every year the winter would come to soon
and it would have to close its eyes and wait to try again next year
and  then, at last, in the heat of the sun
it spun
and spun
and spun
and wrapped itself so tight
until it was time for flight

Handle On It

Oh yeah, she's got a handle on it
helps her carry it everywhere she goes
Oh yeah, she's got a handle on it
firm grip
won't slip
doesn't drop
won't stop
can't shake it
never break it
got herself too strong a handle on it

Keeping You On My Greeting Card File

Mamma, 

I hope this note finds you.

I remember the presents you wrapped with candy canes attached. You’d never done that before. You curled ribbon around them as well, using the sharp end of the knife to create a spiral. That was the first and final time you’d ever take such care with presentation. You knew.

Dad’s okay. His misses you every day, but he has his birds and his binoculars.

I don’t know what to tell you about Lucy without hurting your heart, but we’ve made a start on getting her better.

Bec’s strong but she’s breaking. She has a good man by her side, so in time we hope for everything you would want for her.

Your baby boy is doing good. His temper still gets the better of him, if you were here you’d have words, God knows you’re the only one he’d listen to.

I guess you know how I’ve been going. I will improve, like I promised to.

Much love to you,

Your Lissy Lou xo.

The Sound Of Sunlight

The sound of summer sunlight is all around

it weaves its way and wraps her body as she rests on the bed

she’s aware of it warming her bare legs and back

she’s lying on her side so the light can cover her

(she’s never been completely comfortable with her own nakedness)

she can hear a koel call from outside

and the raking of leaves

“how do flowers grow?”

a child’s question rises from the next door neighbour’s yard

up through her second floor bedroom window

she doesn’t hear the answer

she feels the sound of sunlight

A Few Words On Eight Years

The sun sticks around a little longer this time of year
as if it can’t bear to call it a day and say goodnight
and the earth to which you were returned has turned
eight times around
it’s a circle we spin 
pretending we are walking straight ahead
but we come right back around to the end
I drove to our bend in the river today
it’s just a small stretch of water 
but my mind can reach right back
and as I walked along I thought I could smell
the sausages sizzle
the burning of hamburgers
and hear the roar of the crowd
I could picture you on the bank
so proud
I know this path well
and I used to walk it so tall
and although my stature hasn’t changed at all
it’s almost as if I’ve been reduced to a crawl