Thursday, March 10, 2011

and Im only three

The notes of my mothers keys
Torture Murder Suicide 
being played out
and carried 
on late afternoon breeze 

me swinging
to the sweet notes of wild violets
hollyhocks and Toska
under my tree 
all this 
and only three

and in the shed
the sound of the axe
being sharpened ready
for the wood
as mother starts in another key
playing Choplin
as I swing
high above the red gums
clenched tight

holding on to me
with all their might
their arms branched out
as if to catch my fall
while a kookaburra laughs
at the mere possibility
of such a thought

Frilled necked
and puffed out wide
a lizard stands its pride
so even if I wanted to
I dare not fall
Like stunned by the sheer gun of my swing
perhaps thinks Im a bullet
and if it stands very very still
It will become invisible

but Im not afraid of such bravado display
even at three
I have been stood up
by bigger prey
and I have my swing
my wonderful
wonderful swing
and as long as it moves
No one or thing
can stop my fun
and spoil
my day

Until I hear my name being played in the keys
floating ever so far but near
in the breeze
mothers shed tears
and warn their babies
not to touch or they will get cut
but the axe is now near
I can feel its steel breathe
against my skin
perhaps I did fall down
and the lizard chased me
round and round
into the shed
where I fell
yes that its
I fell
cut myself
on the sharp lips
of the axe
this blood

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