Cape Conran

When I was three, I met you. 

Falling asleep to your crashing waves, 

which smooth the stones you left for me to find. 

Safely wrapped in your blanket made of stars. 

When I was seven, I found you. 

Endless days. Warmth hugging everyone silly and the 

salt-tinged air mingling with the undergrowth and campfire smoke.

When I was ten, I said a goodbye I never knew I was making.

Unaware of the scorching flames that would lick your body.

Snuffing out the lives that called this place home in

one silent moment.

Charring the banksia black like bleeding ink on a page. 

When I was fourteen, I ran to you. 

To let go. You and me like always. 

Holding your hand, I ran, and stripped back the layers. 

I hit your shoreline and took the first real breath I had in a year.

Where the banksias grow wild with their burnt skin. 

Where the salt meets the bush.

Under our

blanket made of stars.