Poem for the Day

Masks

My daughter carries her life
in a suitcase. Life would be cosier,
for her - if she never left home.
Today she returns like a tryst
softening her edges. Perth is home.
It will bathe her in stars, & by day,
her skin will be treated to sun.
Her heels will feel the pacy city
grown, more cars, more trains,
but no trams dividing roads.
Not that she didn't like Melbourne.
No! Melbs was cool, trendy, more nightclubs
& bands. But the men, oh
the men were the same
dark hair, dark eyes from too much
ranting/ ego (or was it drugs?).
In her early move she loved the city,
the Yarra, a song she wrote, her band
at festivals, the Federation squares of art,
more terrestrial than colonised.
She frequented Brunswick, all the organic
vegie shops, two-dollar markets, loved
her Armani suit; those designer clothes
she found in trinket/ op-shops.
In Perth, she will wear these possessions
mask what she has lost.