For my mother
Tasmania was mine, mmm, I loved it. The many colours, many landscapes, the movement of the seasons. The deep blue mountains, the bright meandering streams. Silver and golden streams, water and sunlight. Sunlight streaming on my wide back lawn, which spread like a meadow. Shimmering grass and shimmering sky. Fresh springtime mornings, their frosts diminishing, becoming dew. Summer full of bees, their peaceful hum. Me on my own, mooning through summer days, meandering round my meadow, humming too.
Tasmania was mine, mmm, I loved it. The many colours, many landscapes, the movement of the seasons. The deep blue mountains, the bright meandering streams. Silver and golden streams, water and sunlight. Sunlight streaming on my wide back lawn, which spread like a meadow. Shimmering grass and shimmering sky. Fresh springtime mornings, their frosts diminishing, becoming dew. Summer full of bees, their peaceful hum. Me on my own, mooning through summer days, meandering round my meadow, humming too.
Winter mists
hiding the valleys, climbing the hills, almost veiling the mountains, draping
my familiar town in mystery,
magic. Then melting gradually, by
midday gone, the gleaming town new-minted.
Murky rain,
black mud; myself muffled in overcoat, cap and mittens. Gumboots to mid-calf. Squelch, squelch, I am the master of
all this mud! Hurrying home to the
warm, the welcoming mother. Tomato soup beside the fire. My clothes hugging me warm: soft socks
and cosy jumper. Hugging myself
with my happy arms.
The taste of
tomato soup and mushy brown bread.
The taste of comfort, home.
The flavour of a warm room, safe from the frosts and marauding storms. Summer
tastes were fruit - gooseberries, raspberries, nectarines, damson plums... The purplest of plums, dark purple,
thick with juice. Messy all over
my cheeks, staining my hair, covering my
hands to the wrists. My
rich purple lips, my inky tongue.
Mum amazed, aghast at so much mess. Oh miraculous messy damson plums! Welcome back to my memory, dreamtime summer fruit.
My summer
stretched to encompass all the autumn.
Mellow harvest moons, huge and golden, mimicked the sun. The sky smiled, the cosmos smiled on
me.
'Come home!' the
island calls me now. 'You are my
child. Come home, come back, you
are mine.'
Published in Secret Leopard. Paris, Alyscamps Press, 2005. (See sidebar.)
(A friend asked if she could read some of my prose poems online. So I thought I'd better post some. See also next post.)
And linking — just a little late! — to Poets United's Mothers' Day 2013 edition of Poets Pantry
