Jubilee, for me will be a far more glorious year
Years ago we dreamt of a foster child
before our numbers grew
We believed a child
could grow in our home
yet affection would misconstrue
no desire to return the favours you give
no gratitude for the way we live
With this in mind I watered the soil
to love and care for you
You are my best friend
I cared for you before we even met
All the unspeakable things
I held out to account
When we pull others up
Out of the mud
It is surely to be flown at us
I wore it well enough
All for Him
Here we are, nestled in a crisp valley
bunkered by rows of apples, cherries, pears and poplars.
Here in a sun trap shaped by the mountains
rounding us like a sleeping curvaceous woman side-lying
covered in an olive green felt blanket of eucalypts and pines.
Her shoulder point is the top of our hill,
our yellow weathered board cottage
rests in the nape of her knee.
Her feet dangle in the cool trout stream
tickled by blackberries and bracken ferns,
by the rivulet.
Way up nigh the crest of her shoulder,
leading down to the crook of her spine,
lays an open range of field lying open to the air,
uncovered and bare.
Tufts of grass populate the open ground
like goose pimples pricked by a cold southern front.
In Summer the sun peers a brazen eye over shoulder
as an outstretched lovers arm,
by winter it illuminates her waist over glittering blanket of white.
A smooth dirt lane weaves a long crooked leg from the rivulet
to a fork-road navel servicing gates, apple sheds and stables.
It narrows and elevates between the cleavage of tended fields
crawling up the neck, waning into a wallaby lair causeway
leading to thickets of densely woven hair.
Nimble and wiry wildlife dart flippantly into this mat of eucalypts,
accustomed to uninterrupted freedom
to feed and increase.
A variety of bungalows lie dormant
amidst the native and exotic rows of foliage within the valley.
Smoking incessantly, knowing their days are numbered,
the chimneys breathe warmth and life into living rooms
adorned with walls of ancestry.
Layers of generations cover and insulate the rooms,
years of wallpaper, wood, tile and paint,
defending its age and masking the wrinkles of time.
Eyes peer out warped windows twitching at the treetops,
hibernating while the cold becomes stronger.
Bulbs push through the barrier of clay
to herald the coming of Spring
and the blossoms obey
spreading out in their millions,
a white spray along the legs
of lady mountain.
flat screen glows
shattered window blows
children in care somewhere
paying her way out
giving out offers for
mother’s day photos
at the family park
Sin of omission
a fortune spent
don’t blink! Little faces
immortalized in ink
on my wall
I am reminded of her
in them all