A Poem

Here's a poem recently published in Box Hill Tafe's anthology, Avant. I read it at the launch late last year. It was largely inspired by the death of my dear friend, Marion, to cancer, several years ago. Her sincerity, sense of humour, thoughtfulness, incredible memory for detail and the many other qualities she constantly displayed touched the lives of all who knew her. One day in 1979 we wagged college together and went to the Royal Melbourne Show. It was absolutely spontaneous and deliciously illegal. Who said that a spot of truancy couldn't cement a friendship? Blah!

While earth turns
by Carole Poustie

(God said to Moses, ‘I am who I am.’ The Bible)

I am the first blade of morning
that cuts through the stone-wall black of night
razes the darkness with a solitary shaft of colour
banishes trash-can marauders
from their back-alleyed haunts.

I am the boy who stands alone in the playground
the girl who is plucked from the playground
to stand alone on a corner, to lean on a lamppost
while childhood is devoured by wolves.

I am the ghost-breath whisper of the skeleton
that lies on a hospital bed
wild eyes staring from the abyss of skull
stick arms flailing in restless death-dance
merciless rite of passage.

I am the frustration of friend
who tries to stroke the boney hand
strains to hear the parting words
that slip away and fall to the floor
like scraps of butterfly wings.

I am the life that lies in a box in the garden shed
between lawn mower and summer umbrella
whose ink-smudged pages no longer turn
swollen by damp in their cardboard coffin.

I am the bird blasted out of blue sky
that plummets to earth, lifeless and leaden
I am the fledgling, frightened and alone
whose mother lies still on a windy plain.

I am the child who heard the shot
rocked the feathered creature
till it grew cold in sleep.

I am hope that rises from the dead
when a child returns home
delivered up by concrete mattress
newspaper blanket
when a parent lets go –
swaps power for grace.

I am albatross, eagle and pelican
gliding on updraft
no degree in civil aviation.

I am ebb and flow
turn of tide
wax and wane of moon
hand that picks up a fishing boat
from its mooring and
turns it shoreward
when it yearns for the ocean.

I am palindrome of life –
I am beginning and end and beginning am I –
earth, ash, dust.

I am the fragrance of daphne
frangipani and gardenia
transported on the whisper of a night breeze.

I am the last vestige of dusk
resplendent in royal hue
ready to slide beneath cover of grey
to sleep again on a pillow
coloured every shade of black –

while earth turns.

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