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Wednesday, 31 December 2014

Frenchman's Cap


(The Frenchman’s Cap area is one of the most spectacular parts of Tasmania. It is wild, remote and quite inaccessible…)

Sometimes, an ordinary life is a kind of ecstasy.

Ordinariness is an art,

a sour wine-making,

a hive robbing,

a harvest of strangled sweet peas

tipped over by November gales.

 

My lover and I have never kissed.

Tonight I put new seed in the tiny trough for my birds,

and I laughed at the sweetest weight of their bodies

when they fluttered and perched on the side.

I love the hands of old people, though,

not so long ago, their fingers  frightened me.

 

Tonight, I ate mussels with crusty bread.

They look like inner labia, and the ocean taste reminds me

of oysters prised  off the rocks by a mother

 who always carried one sharp knife, and hid the others.

 

I suppose it’s ordinary to love a man the way I do.

People do it all the time, and, from the outside

it seems plain enough. But from inside, where I live,

it is the most extraordinary of accidents.

My love is like stepping backwards to take a photograph

and falling to your death.

 

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