Poem Category: Australian

last night’s argument–
I go over myself
in the shaving mirror

clay bowl
should hold the water
the kiln bakes out

he brings some past
to the gramophone
Dad’s vinyls

lavender field
the bees and their nectars
in the quietness of light

sailing solo
along the horizon
he cannot see

snuggled up blankets–
the bird songs with me,
with me from first light

toe-turned steps
I say nothing else
to the dance class

whistling
at a mad wind
the weather-vane

out of our car
carrying the pails
of wild blackberries

a bonsai in a pot
at the front door
the soft light of winter