Reflections
Cecilia Morris: Poem ‘Reflections’
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‘I’m a dinkum Aussie poet,
And I don’t care who knows it.’
(Les Murray)
I listen to you recite poetry
follow footsteps to your shack
with its fading paint.
You talk of family history.
The screen door bangs,
we walk through tall wallaby grass
pace your land.
Blue-tongue lizards
shelter among leaf litter,
hiss as we pass down the street
so wide once for bullock carts.
The Northerly buffets us
outside the mechanics hall,
by the war memorial,
We move to the lagoon,
watch eels slide quickly past.
The closest thing to poetry
is the moon, you say.
I am grounded, in Melbourne,
where one house is pressed
against the next.
I wander outside
into a clear night,
lit by a full moon.
Not the wide luminous moon
Of your heartland,
But still it draws me out
We share the night.