Month: August 2013

sitting on the porch

our dog
asleep
at my feet

the sun leaves the longest shadow from the house

an afternoon is in the trees as
they chatter of a day of doing this and that
and acquiesce against one anothers mischief

—

flavours of a garlic salad linger

the guitar rests
the book stays shut
the beer subsides to its last foam

a walk to the fridge for another
will happen sooner
or later

there’s no telling how long a stillness will take

MChallis © 2009

To my dead son or daughter;
I left you, let you pass,
kept you out

frozen: The mark of
the palmist foretelling five children,
I climb this hill now, with four at my side.

Your memory: A shadow on the distant range,
where eucalypt is to its last;
the blue mountain.

Though I climb and four grow,
the wife that was then is now gone;
her grief and her echo.

Still I sense the soft pad of your call,
the tug of your passing,
and almost
the first breath of greeting.

MChallis 2006