sand classroom

I speak an endangered language

when stories were taught in sand

it too, has been displaced

but the grains

remember the lessons

from that sand classroom

my mouth remembers a language

that I have hardly heard on the tongue

of my own flesh Mother, gunii 

good thing

my Old Women are housed in me

like a relentless and returning tideline

who refuses to stay away

my old words find me

these lessons remain 

in Land

chasing smoke

wuyugili

I feel a sorry day as I attempt to embody these words in air

I remember our forgetting

I long for that dirt school

I’m late for the bus, but I am running hard

our ancient language belongs to tree, dirt and magpie

dhulu, dhawun, burrugarrbuu

good thing

I am of this place

good thing

this old girl knows the way back

to the river Page.