New Poetry from Irina Frolova

4

AUSTRALIA DAY

 

I stare blankly

at the empty space.

 

Yoga is closed –

a public holiday I never celebrate,

it makes me scratchy

in my throat.

 

I am but a grain

of white sand peppered

on this red land,

a single white star

of a southern cross tattooed

over scars and names,

a tiny piece of tabula rasa

 

after thousands of years of

black history.

 

 

WHERE ONCE A FOREST

 

between the wild and the new

the lakeshore

is contained within

a wall of boulders on one side

a metal ramp on the other

echo of the past    

native and brought

gum trees   a kind of pine   

coral trees   jacarandas

green  orange   purple

splash at the sky

some lean to the side heavily

their roots a fish

half out of water   gasp for 

simpler days

away from the road rage

weekend walkers

soak up sunny moments

lizards dart

under the man-made rocks

birds sit

ignore birdwatchers

a blend of eucalypt

and car fumes   some flowers’

sickly sweetness

hangs in the air

next to glossy

waterfront mansions

and here

we stand    many and alone

under the trees

between the boulders

and the ramp

and this

thing called life

goes on

 

 

AN ODE TO REST

in my yard the red blooms of the Flame tree

perch in the blue air

 

my hammock wraps me in a cocoon

rocks me to surrender

 

back in the house the e-mails and bills wait

I am drunk on the clear skies

 

I stroke the white velvet of my cat’s back

eyes half-closed

  his gaze steady and far away

a little sphinx

he’s got this thing all figured out

 

I think light blue thoughts

juicy green dreams slowly

bloom

some say

metamorphosis takes hard work

 

on a day like this I think

it takes nothing

 

but time

 

 

 

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