Tempo
In the first month I think
it’s a drop in a spider web’s
necklace of dew
at the second a hazel-nut; after,
a slim Black-eyed Susan demurely folded
asleep on a cloudy day
then a bush–baby silent as sap
in a jacaranda tree, but blinking
with
mischief
at five months it’s an almost-caught
flounder flapping back
to the glorious water
six, it’s a song
with a chorus of basses: seven, five grapefruit
in a mesh bag that bounces on the hip
on a hot morning down at the shops
a water melon next – green oval
of pink flesh and black seeds, ripe
waiting to be split by the knife
nine months it goes faster, it’s a bicycle
pedalling for life over paddocks
of sun
no, a money-box filled with silver half-crowns
a sunflower following the clock
with its wide-open grin
a storm in the mountains, spinning rocks
down to the beech trees
three hundred feet below
- old outrageous Queen Bess’s best dress
starched ruff and opulent tent of a skirt
packed with ruffles and lace
no no, I’ve remembered, it’s a map
of intricate distinctions
purples for high ground burnt umber
for foothills green for the plains
and the staggering blue
of the ocean beyond
waiting and waiting and
aching
with waiting
no more alternatives!
Suddenly now
you can see my small bag of eternity
pattern of power
my ace my adventure
my sweet-smelling atom
my planet, my grain of miraculous dust
my green leaf, my feather
my lily my lark
look at her, angels –
this is my daughter.
©Lauris Edmond |
