Warrnambool Seabaths

green silent lawn hides
behind weatherboard buildings near the railway line
There is no fence
only the partial remains of a wall
Drapes of succulence wreath the sandstone bricks
Brilliant pink crepe myrtle splays
wands of blossom. Tea-tree, mop tops, ivy
shiny -leaf and boxthorn sprawl
A fragrance laced with sweetness and sand dune
pirouettes.

Quiet stone has shed the cry and laughter, the splash
of divers and swimmers, the hum and murmur
of sunbakers yet the tendrils of imagination
assisted by memory creep into this space:
my father thinking he was entering a pool of clear water
instead, clouds of lime rising up to meet his stinging eyes
an aunt swimming the length, breath held underwater
hitting her head on the pool's end
earlier men swam nude
earlier again, in 1896, Isabel Gillespie swam fully-clothed
and instructed swimmers

Soil now fills the space where bodies
were once buoyant in minerals
An oval shaped lawn, carefully tended
Is flanked by the stone edging
some wheaty-headed weeds sprouting their rebel syllables

Further back by the brick:
A movement of leaf
a shiver of flower in the chill sea-breeze
and a rabbit, in the blink of my eye