the colour of healing
it’s a thick silence,
unrehearsed and accidental,
with the house suddenly empty.
rare, in a home like this –
grand piano, two ‘cellos, violin, guitar –
three musicians and a dog,
Bach Chaconnes, Chopin Preludes and
high pitched whines joining ‘cello duets
has me thinking though,
about the repositories of silence
because it’s been here and waiting,
in the 45 degrees of stairwell, the angle
providing harbour, a balloon of silence
the colour of healing
the tides
you would say that it was tidal,
all to do with the tides.
yes, you would say that
and I would look away, look West
we’re doing things in halves today,
you would say that,
a day in halves,
only was there ever a day that was whole?
have you finished writing about tomorrow?
you said that.
no I said, haven’t finished with the yesterdays
I’m driving now, driving and thinking,
away, and thriving.
I could say that, could say that
the boys
the boys, circled, in jeans, shirts
untucked, beers and banter,
loosening, back slapping, real
estate prices, golf tales, the
boys, who’s round? unbuttoning,
stubbies and schooners, un-
finishing, Wednesday after-
nooning, the boys, in this
pranged up moment of shared
and shed untruths and
bruises, the boys, beering,
untangling, cruising, jaunty
and blooming, the boys, in the
ambered half light, the boys
the road
the road scars right, across the
palm of land, tumbling, dwindling,
a groove, a history, a way in,
worn and healed slick
the road, oil on linen, bitumen
on peat, with all its gradations
of shadow, bruise to smear to brush
the road, cloud above scuffed and
tugged by wind, rain sifting down,
the ‘haar’ they call it here,
cold breath of wet
the road, its dip and sway, blur
of scrub, the urge, glimpse of roof,
swerve, the early dark, the entrance
Kevin Gillam is a Western Australian writer with three books of poetry published.
Beer drinking image by Shutterstock.