Nipaluna / Hobart

 

The Botanical Gardens —

these sounds are as of a womb.

Midnight, sprinklers on timers;

droplets find leaves, trunks — earth’s roots.

Listen from caravan pod.

 

Ashes of my grandfather —

sand, shells, kelp, cuttlefish squeak;

Cornelian Bay’s gravestones.

Sprinklers misfire. Palawa;

Government House on the hill.

 

Ashes of my grandmother —

Kunanyi and the river.

Air brakes of an old-growth tree;

downed bridge of referendum;

my friend is without a womb.

 

A last cup of rainwater;

sequencing moisture: the trees.

Bottle-green curtains; pod-safe.

Stars’ motor is the past now —

turn a deaf ear to the sky.