by MICHAEL GREENACRE
I’m drawn back in time
by your stillness, as if the past
is still living within us
and the gum trees remind me
I know where I am, as crowded
greenery keeps its foothold
below the sun’s warming charms
watching plant-life sit motionless
as a painting of place before the world,
until movement becomes steps
in the breeze’s waltz with the callings
of sandgropers and bird-life swooping in
to break-down our sensory walls.
Trees and bushes I know face to face,
the likes of jarrah and marri and the
understorey of banksia and casuarina help
create a bush orchestra, with soprano to bass
vocalisations leaning in to welcome and
converse, reminding us our voices are
needed to keep this environment unchanged.
The grass trees have spread their spines
as vertebrae, with thin green ribs shooting out
as fingers with sharp nails to grab and warn
this is a relationship we can’t ignore:
Yagan, as leader of the Whadjuk Noongar
people, used this land as a home-base,
lookout and communication point …
And the crows now land and ‘caw’
through our conversation, saying
Yes, yes, yes; don’t for-get-get -get…