[296 words]
Ash cream speckled
gravel strewn
hundreds and thousands
on track baked
hard in the sun
stay straight on the road
eucalypts are sentries
not caretakers
road curves round
just here, line of sight
twists as again
the wallaby’s shade
starshine soft on
road’s rough edge
snags my mind
If I were to turn
face what beckons
I would choke out
dehydrated platitudes;
we did what’s best
we meant well
it was the kindest thing to do
instead, stride on, resolute.
In the dusky evening air
we’d found you
as we jostled joy
and future dreams,
until on that contoured bend
you were laid out, dashed down
black line curves and angles
keening soft on that pebbled bed.
Who knew you’d give voice
in your dying
our chatter eddied
coalescing into sharp bites of sound
Immune now, head lifted
watching the sky one last time
forced frozen, paralysed
liquid eyes reflecting stars
as you wept and called
children crowding round
peering in the gloom.
All splayed akimbo
roughly contorted
velvet fur enveloping
smashed and twisted truth
battered beloved toy
languid on a stony sofa
Father takes the spade
whispers a prayer
(he’s an atheist)
brings steel blade to sinew
hard heavy strokes
something so broken
took so much to die
I held the light
but could not witness
not the end
no benediction in death
heavy hearted hard handed
we enact one more outrage
pitching body below into bracken bier
Morning erupted
we walked to witness
ravens feasting below the swerve
the road is corvid god
provider and taker
no gourmet
The year pitches on
stench subsided
in fewer months than
body bears a child
and still the tugging
at the corner of my eye
rising from the fronds
feeding the earth
spreading wide
begging
witness me.
Kris Erskine (FSAScot) is an emerging writer of poetry, short stories, & longer forms; and an established writer of academic pieces on site continuity. A peripatetic wanderer until Tasmania grabbed her heart and soul, she lives in the foothills of Kunanyi. You can find her @ wedowords.com.au.
