Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Ode to Grandparents

Your faces shine like oval moons
over the green gate,
rose blossoms at your feet.
You left, marking a passage of time
forced through the sea
in grey light.
Your voices return through
the silence, spreading coins
on a kitchen counter.
Us, mischievous kids
bypassing the deli
for shrinking waves at Manly
our feet rushing back
in their thunderous return.

The blossoms are swept away, gate
abandoned. Curvature of tin roof
and pepper pot chimney, gone.

Such moments to think back on
as history, as youth ―
a world of watercourses that held
a fun pier, green sea divers
with knives like missing teeth.
Yet, pines still spread their mass
along the esplanade,
seas drip from children's hands
while carnivals reel in Sunday marches.
Grandma, Grandpa, you seem to have
sunk into silence, but I did notice
early this morning
red rose blossoms
falling at my door.



Published by Australian Poetry Centre, Melbourne

of Arc & Shadow

of Arc & Shadow
Published by Sunline Press, WA

The Joyous Lake

Par écrit

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