Bora born
Cats in the kitchen _
The child's mind backburns, a curloo's faint echo
penetrates the night shift in far away loops.
Recycled in rhythm he counts their cries out
the same way when lightning teases out thunder.
The bush is alive by night, he's safe in bed
tucked away, aged three, tired eyes wide open.
The smell of his mother, a room away tests
his nerve, is he game to make the dash through dark.
Between their rooms lies the open kitchen, full
of scary shapes, backlit by street lights dull glow.
The vase of flowers always turns into a
bush tom cat which somehow always creeps inside.
It just sits there motionless ready to pounce
a sentinal of the shadow, minds still sense.
Real courage rises to make the dash as quick as
his left hand held cupped to hide those cat people.
His mother wakes with gentle strokes on her arm
' I can't sleep ' is no device, he means it.
Ever since that night before his grandfather
died, those tom's have come in wails to raise the dead.
Within his mother's zone in idle tones of
comfort he's carried back to bed where she lays.
He drifts away within her body perfume
the next best thing to Mum's bed isn't so bad.
- O -
© july 2008 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
penetrates the night shift in far away loops.
Recycled in rhythm he counts their cries out
the same way when lightning teases out thunder.
The bush is alive by night, he's safe in bed
tucked away, aged three, tired eyes wide open.
The smell of his mother, a room away tests
his nerve, is he game to make the dash through dark.
Between their rooms lies the open kitchen, full
of scary shapes, backlit by street lights dull glow.
The vase of flowers always turns into a
bush tom cat which somehow always creeps inside.
It just sits there motionless ready to pounce
a sentinal of the shadow, minds still sense.
Real courage rises to make the dash as quick as
his left hand held cupped to hide those cat people.
His mother wakes with gentle strokes on her arm
' I can't sleep ' is no device, he means it.
Ever since that night before his grandfather
died, those tom's have come in wails to raise the dead.
Within his mother's zone in idle tones of
comfort he's carried back to bed where she lays.
He drifts away within her body perfume
the next best thing to Mum's bed isn't so bad.
- O -
© july 2008 _ Nhawrr yirrpa
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Cats in the kitchen _
Cats in the kitchen _
