the
family picnicked on a blanket by
the wattles
the
wattles grew at
the edge of the greasy
lake
the
crow flew over the surface, its reflection
quivering beneath
the
cloud stretched overhead in
glass beams
clocksprings
and chimes were other birds
networks
of piping connected all sounds as though they were water
there
were dunes of water in the crow distance
a
cascade of raw sun sizzled like molten solder as it hit the water
the crow dropped to
the water like a seagull, coughing
no one cared but the
child who watched
when they unpacked
the boot later they found a tiger snake dead in the blanket
Amazing!
ReplyDeleteGosh that last line. It's like an incantation, this poem. Lovely. No one cared but the child who watched.
ReplyDeletethanks Efi, Mikaela, Sarah — and to Cui Yuwei who translated it into Chinese. I was trying to write something better than what I felt were my desultory efforts recently (have had a bit of a lurgy).
ReplyDelete