Poetry | Stories | Photography
One day I’ll forget
you,
me,
mum,
dad,
my sister,
my brother,
what we did,
what made me,
what made us,
this unique land.
Leave a note here,
place a note there,
post-it note me
like I’m a fashionista
from Paris, if you must.
Leave enough notes,
stick them on the fridge,
place them on toilet rolls,
put them in my shoes,
hide them in the undies
so I can remember
you and
so I can remember
me.
casual exchange
under the old red gum tree
the memory fades
You invited me to take a voyage on the notes you love.
We journeyed together, listening to the way songs changed over time; we embraced our favourites and kept an open mind.
Now, I remember you by a series of your favourite songs, which I sometimes play alone.
Sorting through letters
once trees, the paper holds our
distant memories
Remember that place?
A faded wish we made long
ago in the fog.
My soul calls me back
A traveller’s wish for the
lands of ancestors
Mother and Daughter
Checking the bud everyday
Blooming bud rapture
I think of her softly,
the way she moved and the things she said.
Even now, she moves through me,
even as the rain softly falls on the windows.
Someone said you should love,
yet I want to tell them to go fuck themselves,
for love has broken my heart into a thousand pieces.
Yet, still, I sit and think of her,
the little ways she made my day bright and happy,
how we talked about everything.
I miss her sunflower soul dearly,
for her soul calmed me through my many storms.
Me, alone with my broken heart;
I keep the sadness close to feel her.
Sitting in my seat;
on the train, her face and eyes come to me
as the rain turns into icy pieces of snow.
Between the cliff and the sea,
walking along a sandy path.
No, shells left for you to see,
nor the feelings you once felt.
Beautiful this place once was,
when we did not need shoes.
No heart in this place anymore;
destroyed by pollution and plastic.
The two of us stood in this place on countless occasions,
as you talked to me about so many unimportant topics.
I listened to your words, not because I cared for them;
I listened to your talk because I knew the hunger
for your flesh and blood would be satisfied soon enough.
The way you looked at, “the big old elegant green one
with unkempt hair like mine” was a woman’s talk to me,
yet it never moved me.
I think of you, and I play your mannerisms, your face,
your voice, your speech; I play them over and over in my
mind so that I will never forget.
The riverside willow of you. The unkempt hair that hung
around your beautiful face, like the weeping willow
branches hang down into the river, is all I have left of you.
I realised too late that your time with me here in this
place was more important than only the hunger, which
is all I knew, for your flesh and your blood.
Your flesh and your blood was my desire for you, yet
your words, your actions, your love, and you,
the unkempt hair you, was the reason for my hunger.
C & K 