Bora born
Women by rite _
The fisherman's mother, frail aged keeper
of knowledge blessed wisdom, blended by time.
A remarkable life, willing no harm
grounded in sense found steeped deep in her mind.
Her last week of life precedes Palm Sunday
her essence diffuse, she prepares her way.
The trauma lost voice never to soothe, those
who gather in turn, to ease her new pain.
Within those quiet hours just after sunset
he slips in to pray, then sit by her side.
Eyes idle awake, lips touch her forehead
arm slowly raised as if greeting goodbyes.
Women enter, new carers in her life
to shower in tones of gently dressed words.
Pampered by right on pillows of kindness
they tend to her needs, firm feelings displayed.
Matured, sensual, demured by the light
she guides the young nurse, examples laid bare.
Together they comfort this old woman
to ease her clogged pain in subtle ways.
He tells them, of the cycle completing
how Rose as a girl found her role in life.
By twelve years of age, she had delivered
a baby, by twelve she had felt deaths bite.
A life in service to those around her
no self-serving bent for monetary whims.
A watcher, a warrior of tempered
persuasion, rendered in common sense things.
Eased deep in sleep by liquid deliverence
her passing prepared on pillow like flows.
Soft breath, closed eyes, they have freed her passion
a message received in this last goodbye.
- O -
© may 2006 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
Author's notes are here.
of knowledge blessed wisdom, blended by time.
A remarkable life, willing no harm
grounded in sense found steeped deep in her mind.
Her last week of life precedes Palm Sunday
her essence diffuse, she prepares her way.
The trauma lost voice never to soothe, those
who gather in turn, to ease her new pain.
Within those quiet hours just after sunset
he slips in to pray, then sit by her side.
Eyes idle awake, lips touch her forehead
arm slowly raised as if greeting goodbyes.
Women enter, new carers in her life
to shower in tones of gently dressed words.
Pampered by right on pillows of kindness
they tend to her needs, firm feelings displayed.
Matured, sensual, demured by the light
she guides the young nurse, examples laid bare.
Together they comfort this old woman
to ease her clogged pain in subtle ways.
He tells them, of the cycle completing
how Rose as a girl found her role in life.
By twelve years of age, she had delivered
a baby, by twelve she had felt deaths bite.
A life in service to those around her
no self-serving bent for monetary whims.
A watcher, a warrior of tempered
persuasion, rendered in common sense things.
Eased deep in sleep by liquid deliverence
her passing prepared on pillow like flows.
Soft breath, closed eyes, they have freed her passion
a message received in this last goodbye.
- O -
© may 2006 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
Author's notes are here.
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Women by rite _
Women by rite _
