Grass in a desert

 

Could you forget the taste of milk 

sweet from the misty silver canister

brought from the island by boat

fresh from the milking that morning

the farmer’s hands working 

to release it from the cow’s udder

warm and rich with masticated grass 

and the farmer’s children smiling

and the morning sun full of promise? 

Could you forget the day without water 

when the bony goat has no milk to give

the sound of war an unwelcome wind

blowing bitter sand in our faces? 

And, could you remember

it is still sometimes possible 

to find grass in a desert 

to bring the goat to a jetty at high tide

and begin again?

 

 

 

Feathers falling

 

The sound of green feathers 

falling on grass.

Your breath on my cheek.

Stillness before a storm.

Yellow feather flashes 

catch green umbrella leaves.

A revelation of violet blue 

lightening cracks in the canopy.

A hint of coming rain

when red fruit  profit

sharp beaks and soft mouths.

When branches bend

with the weight of summer heat.

But in this dry season

the fruit is scarce 

too hard for succour.

Small bird bodies dry out

resting on giant green palms

before falling to earth 

in the midday summer gale.

We count their softness

and hope for more.

When the next season comes.