Verna Fisher

Scorpion burrows line the desert sand

wallabies prostrate, ears swivelling, alert to vibration and sound

everlasting daisies, yellow and white as `fried eggs’ quivering in the light breeze

fresh and dried scat from night wanderers,

damn moisture-seeking flies only momentarily absent with the flush of a hand.

Looking and listening

as I only know how, 

a fleeting visitor to this country.

Saltbush spread across the ancient lake bed, as if a mirror to the stars

cypress clings to the ridge tops, twisted and contorted with age weary boughs

a distant hum of a passing 4WD

another looming sunset at the dazzling Wall of China; 

beautiful lunettes admired but a vestige to the pillage of people and homelands.

Our settler backs to the beauty,

Lost to the potential, the unknowing,

that which is past, present and future.

Copyright Verna Fisher, November 2024. All rights reserved; this intellectual property belongs solely to Verna Fisher.