Poem
Maxine Beneba Clarke
Rain
no rain in sight,
all hot south-westerlies
spring-tinder
grey smoke, coiled
around the cowering
sunshine coast
amanda wheezed,
and sucked her ventolin
dad called out
we’re leaving soon,
and wet the roof again
with hose
mum said
the car’s all packed
what are we waiting for?
we had a plan, come on, get in
let’s go!
in the end
we left their wedding photos
packed in cardboard boxes, in the hall
when the fire came,
the four of us just legged it:
grabbed the dog,
got in the car, and drove
dad said
jen, i think you might be speeding
mum snapped back
well yeah, of course i am
we were lucky, we got out
and lived to tell the tale
even though we never saw
our house again
after,
everything looked really different
the trees were charcoal poles,
no birds flew by
mum cried amongst the ashes:
kicked charred spoons
where her new countertop once lay
dad’s shoulders drooped
he bit his lip,
and blinked his eyes, and
looked away
he said these fires,
they make runways
of the landscape scars
we settlers made
mum snapped
oh, don’t start that nonsense,
we just needed bloody rain
This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on September 14, 2019 as "Rain".
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