Turn around
for Lucy
Morning by morning she left by the front door
weighed down with tools, walked down the hill
tarred paths frosted, water gurgling in gutters
came to the field barren with rain
through years of winter, to dig out stones
hard ringing on iron sharp piercing shards
buried long years back, piled up stones
for holding in, for keeping out,
for marking boundaries. With thoughts of walls
the stone heap grew.
This morning they go out through the back door
tools forgotten she and the child
pushing through banksias brimming with birds
choose the pathway past the grevilleas.
The child picks a grass stem to fathom the puddles
shakes the acacias sodden with rain
scatters rosellas and runs to the stone heap.
‘
I'm on top of the mountain, the sun's in a puddle.
When I hold out my arms the sky flies around me.
I can turn the whole world.’
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