Rural Preteen
By Fig R
i know, even in my deep sleep,
crimson rosellas and lorikeets.
if you seek out the warm summer markets
and find the quiet sky on the border
between red sun and red sunburn,
resting under the dust of the gravel road,
you'll find my tiny grevillea home,
busted pipes and a goodbye kiss.
from mother and sister and brother and father
leaving the little din we created in the dirt,
where there is no beauty or forgetting
and we know how to love without listening.
the plants resurrect themselves,
possums drink snake tears.
we recognise this concrete space,
"feel it in our bones," you told me.
(and i told you
i feel safe around you)