I Remember that Place
It was a homeland my homeland
dreamtime and my country between beach and boundary
I have not the soul of an indigenous but carped to play
In my own time and its losses, and in search of renewal
and survival
and these are not platitudes, but trimmed turnips and
food of my garden
for middens were mind, and the endless raft of the beach
touches my soul,
where undertow made you its driftwood, and I am still
dreaming the nights though through association
and dis-association, though I have no oyster beds, of fresh water
and ti-tree
just a planetary raft like the night sky;
mine is obscured by the city and I see the planes coming in ,
and still wish for the moon in my settler colonist mind
for this is my harp and contemplate the didgeridoo
as though it is a bunyip,
though I once danced with the brolga and laughed with the kookaburra,
but he /she knew more than one and twice died in shame
but lingered on to touch all my highlights in the sand-dunes
where the marram grass fledged its trails and controlled the wind drift
in catharsis.
[ a poem for reconciliation recited yesterday at Redfern Town Hall at a Bridge Community Housing gathering – sometimes called a collect for reconciliation ]