Wednesday, June 8, 2011

three more poems

Degrees of Certainty

if you’d studied nursing, you’d be at work by now
not attending a lecture on an abstract noun
studying with a degree of uncertainty

certainly
the work would be hard, the pay low
(patients require much patience, according to medical shows)
but at least you’d have the Degree

caring is practically a universal language
unlike the philosophical abstractions which
you can never claim to understand with certainty

certainly
you’d have to work the night shift
but your husband could tell the children you’re a witch
and they’d laugh and say “she’s not!” while secretly believing it, to a degree

but it does no good to imagine when
decisions made upon a whim
commit you to a Degree of Uncertainty


About a ring

I bought a ring to replace the one I lost
now my finger feels complete
if only I could say the same                                

Northern Territory Intervention

Because of the intervention
the town was filled with them.
They were camping in the Todd
taking advantage of its dry sandy bed
(we would later see their campfires
as we drove back from a local restaurant).

But during the day they simply
leaned against trees    shops    churches
sat on grass    steps    pavement.

It was meant to be a holiday.
Two weeks away.
Learning about the red centre.
Hands on. Adventurous.
But first – tired from the
flight – we found some
local markets and wandered around.

Because of the intervention
it was hard to look at them.
I wanted to say something,
let them know I was on their side.
“I am ideologically opposed.”
But I was awed by the
insufficiency of my words –
my own ignorance – my political mindset,
so divorced from the reality of their lives.

Because of the intervention
I forced myself to look at them.
I made eye contact with an old man.
He was leaning against a tree,
watching the busy market.

I made eye contact, but he didn’t.
He looked through me
but in his eyes I saw a landscape,
and I moved on hurriedly
unsettled by his stillness
so incongruous with my own
fast paced world.

It didn’t last, but for a second
I understood.
And I mourned for the
souls that were left behind
when we conquered this land.


Tuesday, June 7, 2011

three poems

Lawyer
my father
wearing a suit of
grease

sitting
cross legged
in the bonnet
of his car

patiently polishing
the space where
the engine should be


Dementia

my grandfather
in his chair

resting his eyes
surrounded by family

even though
there's no one there


Reprise

my sister
singing in the
bathroom

greeting the morning
with music full of
words; joy
ful of sorrow