Poem | Robert Wood

photo credit: ebay.com 


In the space between
the steel cut oats
they saw the foundation stone.
It was where the townspeople prevailed
on the strength of their ideas
and the delicate nurturing that came with freedom, peanuts and bowerbird eggs.

We hoped.

Between heaven and earth
we found windows
in a house made empty
of talk
by a wind of wildness. Willow.

We sat down to eat
the wrasse brought up from their watery depths
and the ones we welcomed
they told us
of the many thousand miles they’d walked to be here now.

In the husked meringue
we saw
the bounty of heaven
clouds with thousand rain
quenching and crisp
aromatic as gin
a pillow to rest from weariness
and nourish each other without blame.

The orchids were at their feet
spidery and white

and we saw
breath of our breath turn to smoke in the winter morning
like dust, like light
necks craned.

They made soup from
bark and stones, laboured with sashes and honour
spoke of the ice hotel
with the furs and hares.

We sat as sovereigns do
held in our hands a globe
the size of a bull’s head,
the smell of rain on our hair.

On the forty acres
the mule carts burnt
flames green from copper
laundry a burnt reminder
of cleanliness next to thistle
next to bullets and pyramids
a netful of leopards and a raft to the underworld.

That afternoon, we saw a wave made of all the others.

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