Orphaned Islands (Un)poetry

51 died that day
she was wasn’t there, but the man she nearly married was.
I met him twice.
He called unexpectedly at the beginning
and end of a week in the south
both times I was at her place by chance.
She was flirtatious with me in his presence
tugging the waistband of my jeans
ruffling my just cut hair
saying how much better it looked
letting him think she and I ….. might just be.

Significance is seldom recognized by the present
it is when what happens afterwards
that memory recognizes the clue.
He was relaxed the second time
more time
and no deadlines.

A quiet man not given to exaggeration or overstatement
he and I talk while she fixed drinks.
He seemed pleased I knew of his minor fame
we raise glasses to good health in the afternoon light
then he was gone
back to his new life and early death.

Later when bagging her memories
she told me about the shipwreck
that wild April storm.
I remembered it
everybody did
the Kennedy assassination moment of our country.
Indelible wild fear – living roomed by the swinging camera
black godforsaken skies
white satanic waves.
She told me of how he had survived
and what he saw
the ship’s crew leaping into lifeboats
leaving passengers to the roulette mercy of sea and God.

For the back story click Backstage

Hansel and Gretel
child victims of second time marriage
unloved
and unwanted by stepmother
father controlled by a powerful woman – a fairy story.
Love abandoned to the forest
returned by pebble trail
via misfortune
and death
to love.

I admired the house
she took a sip of wine
said she had built it with her father
he being good at that sort of thing.

A standard jigsaw house
prefabricated, dropped on site
made beautiful by his craft
wooden ceilings
wrap around decks
panorama windows.
Just before job’s end he fell ill
dying just after completion
just after connecting drainage umbilical
just at summer’s end.

Before winter displaced autumn
from where ankles of floor meet earth
a finger stream of water.
As an engine’s first stray from melody
is classified unimportant
or flicked undeserving of attention
the trickle was dismissed as growing pains
it did
the trail had to be followed
beneath the floorboards
past piles
past joists
to where tributary drains delta
wedged carefully between sump and framing
a bottle of wine
“love Dad.”

For the back story click Backstge

1960’s New Zealand – plump and complacent
independent in name
colonial by inclination
public holidays for visits by the sovereign
‘God Save the Queen’ played before any occasion
and performance – stage or celluloid.

The provinces reflected the cities
the cities mirrored the provinces
Placid, judgemental rhythms of certainty
trivia the conversation staple
the awkward avoided
or spoken in code – if not able to be.

In July of last year of the decade
Apollo 11
Neil Armstrong and one giant leap
satellite television yet to beam on lonely islands
live
on the radio
audio streaming I suppose.

It was the story of the year
and displaced one more sensational
heard immediately before
the thundering echo of Cape Canaveral.

A loose collective of cyclists
yet to know double-digits by age
pedalled to school
swapping stories of weekend sport
and weekday television.

One morning a tale incredible and unlikely
one of our number has seen his parents
“kissing…..in the nude.”

For the back story click Backstage