Abduction, a poem by Angela Costi

ABDUCTION

She is cooking walleye for supper 

intent on making fish familiar to my birthland,

minute by minute she becomes my other mother

and I become the baby, learning without choice.

She calls me, ‘the daughter I wanted to have’.

I shape my words to fit her vowels, rehearse the lines 

to walk the new planet of strange gestures

that I’m told mean love. 

Her backyard isn’t concrete holding a Hill’s hoist

of damp sheets, it is pine trees, a hammock, a pier

leading to a lake called Gull, and a pontoon.

I sit on an iron-sleeper at the edge of the pier

look out to the stretch of ever-blue 

imagine toddling towards the horizon

each new step becomes her accent

until our voices are married.

Across Gull Lake I hear 

the sound of the solitary loon’s

haunting call 

‘Come to me, come to me…’

my heart flies back to Melbourne 

‘Come to me, come to me…’

I am running, running as fast as my little legs 

will take me, back to the little brick house

with the concrete yard, 

safe for me to play 

skippy and knuckle-bones.

About the contributor

Angela Costi’s poetry explores cross-cultural existence. Her poetic lens is also drawn to urban existence, highlighting moments of connection among routine and struggle. She has published four collections of poetry including Honey and Salt (Five Islands Press, 2007) and Lost in Mid-Verse (Owl Publishing, 2014). Her poetry is published by Mascara Literary Review, StylusLit, Wellington Street Review (UK) and Eureka Street. 

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