Wattle and dead grass,
hills curved like a woman's hips.
The river anchors everything:
the way it separates
two states and mirrors
a caesarian sky (cerulean blue cut
out. clouds birthing clouds).
For countless years different nations
gathered by the banks to prepare
for the moth-feast.
A hand reaches for an eye
that's part of a wing part of another eye.
water-lick and honeycomb air.
These days children sit at picnic tables,
devour packets of Twisties.
A red-bellied black slips onto the footpath—
the family dog calls out.
Whenever I return
I notice how much my accent has bent
out of shape,
When the heatwave finally ends
it’s like sex but with the windows open.
This is a poem from Antithesis’ twenty-fourth edition published in 2014, themed Wake. Broede Carmody is currently an Entertainment Reporter for Fairfax. His first book of poems, entitled Flat Exit, was published by Cordite Books in 2017.
Image by Chicago Style, used with permission.