Friday, April 25, 2014

Poetic Asides Day 24

Tell It To The Ones You Left Behind

The day you left, all other birds
became nervous. Many fled.
I walk in my private bushland
now excited by one honeyeater
landing on a sheltered branch.

I hope you enjoyed your snack
snatched from my land. No doubt
you have no interest in eating
as I do the produce with leaves
stalks, fruit. For you, pleasure

is a mouthful of feathers
a still-warm ovoid of meat
outraged cries from bereft
parents. Your eyes soon
seeking the next prize.

The garden is silent, though
dappled and serene, high
branches of slim gum trees
lifting in a breeze like wings.
No take-offs, no landings.

A white butterfly breaks
the illusion of stillness, of
waiting. And of course
the bees never took notice.
They go about their business.

My heart fluttered, glimpsing
your casual taloned grip
on a small carcase. I felt
caught in a mighty moment.
Now I am disturbed, watchful.

This eerie silence seems
more than personal, as if
the universe has retracted
promises I took for reality.
Every single visitor a victory.

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