The colour of you

2 Comments

 

Selected poems

 

 

hive

& now

the blue

 

of your eyes

the green

 

of your garden

a white box

 

hive of bees

the colour of you

 

 

mothers

The growing

rhythm & sway

 

of you against

the wind, belly

 

full curved moon

a universe

 

before you

 

& a daughter

throws flowers

 

from the end

of the jetty

 

a string

of granddaughters, sons

 

a son in law

mid-morning Sunday

 

water scrunches                  

as a face would                

 

just before tears

 

& at the hand

held bus stop

 

it won’t be

long now

 

just a few

maybe

 

a little

her fingers catch

 

in the throat

as the child

 

in a dusted down

school uniform

 

morning waits

in the rain, mother

 

                                          & the woman

kneels to the height                                                                    

 

of the child

a fast spit bath

 

handkerchief wipe

around the edges

 

of his mouth

in the afternoon

 

squirming shadows

she holds her ground

 

her arms

are always

 

spread as

if flight

 

would lift

her, but

                                                                                                   

for a child

at each hand                                                       

 

o great

weary clouds

 

age hangs over

exhausted knocking

 

themselves together

a little rain

 

a few tears from the edge

crow’s feet eyes

 

mothering

in middle age

 

our mothers

are here before us

 

now our wives

& the wives of others

 

scarfed & drawn

as if straight from bed                                                                  

 

in comfortable shoes

& along the walls

 

of ward 3E a world

never imagined waits

 

our mothers are dead

sa mga yuuhom may dak mga kasakit

 

in the eyes there is rich pain

 

 

change

Having twisted

canes around

 

their wires & tied off

& waited for a little rain

 

to draw through

barely breathing limbs

 

for buds, to green to leaf & flutter

as children have run with flags

 

along wet arteries

bleeding change



 

Rory HarrisRory Harris currently teaches at Playford College in Adelaide’s northern suburbs. His most recent collection, beach (2016)

Topic tags: Rory Harris, poetry

 

 

submit a comment

Existing comments

It’s good to see a picture of Rory. Previously we saw only a drawing. Strong imagery.


Pam | 21 July 2021  

Roray, thank you these poems, sparks of light and small arrows of distress knit together in such seemingly simple shapes.


Jorie Ryan | 21 July 2021  

Similar Articles

Why we need to think communally in lockdown

  • Catherine Marshall
  • 29 July 2021

The despair induced by daily infection and death tallies would be, in normal times, ameliorated to some extent by one’s workaday routine. And the crisis would be borne in togetherness — an impossible response, since the pandemic calls on us to withdraw into ourselves rather than draw together.

READ MORE

The value of novels

  • Gillian Bouras
  • 26 July 2021

I was at university when I first heard of the so-called death of the novel, and was frightened by the thought. But I’ve since heard the phrase many times during the ensuing decades, and am cheered by the fact that so far the novel has clung to life, albeit precariously, while novelists persist in writing, despite the many drawbacks attendant upon the practice.

READ MORE

x

Subscribe for more stories like this.

Free sign-up