METALLURGY Howling cries from each end of the phone, Sounding sirens. House foundations creak and moan From an earthquake, Aftershock I Stumble to my living room. Usual glows are lost in rubble, Shadowed by a twisted metal wreck. Mother’s soft, clean carpet land Pools the waterfall of tears Cascading over the dark cliffs Of her sunken eyes. Dad, our tribe’s Uluru, There is no horizon From behind hands playing peek-a-boo Without the usual playful shout, A shudder in my smile. In our red land, our tribe no longer dances, The rains have come. I am the frozen Pluto, My young eyes two moons A million miles away. Sis’ whispers to the wind, “Grandpa’s dead, why don’t you cry?” The words carry through space, Travelling a million miles – In a few years The weight of waves will crash upon my face. Molecules of emotion swirl together In a dark cloud. I sprinkle tears upon a page To mix with blood that seeps from the cut Of Grandpa’s pocket knife, Reminding me of all the unrealised memories That went to the scrapyard With the wreck of his car.
Posted on: Tue, 17 Sep 2013 23:53:38 +0000
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