Friday, January 30, 2015


Today is memory.
Through window grime
to park: the wisteria tunnel
where once there was a rocket
and a roundabout
long since gone.
where once I pushed a stroller
with grandparents
long now dead.

On Sunday I walked there with you
once-were-Helen. Mother.
We sat on the second wooden bench
your eyes closed/skin an empty shell.
My eyes blinded.
A young girl runs past, we stir.
There's a Labor Party BBQ. Speeches I can't hear.
I think of David Hicks. Your protest.
I want to tell you: He's free now Mum
Vindicated. I know you'd be pleased.

Through window grime
to park, and the wisteria tunnel:
Yes, I see the landscape of my years,
and the view of yours forgotten.

Merilyn Childs, 21/1/2015
From my 30for30 series

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