First, to music
I am forgotten music
carrying chores like a bag lady as day rushes to an end
weighed down by the tempo of a supermarket aisle at weekend peak-time.
I direct my old jalopy
into a suburban pit hidden away from sun’s last chimes
which peal greed and abundance:
lorikeets feast on umbrella tree dates like three drunk tenors trying to sing Puccini.
I become bird-music
whistling as I fill the fridge
pecking at obligatory evening nibbles and a glass of portamento
a zither, slithering away from kitchen calls
as I compose a scene of sundown green,
and colours more vivid than the veggie shelves syncopate piano into Bach’s backyard
and the last bar flops into a chair.
There is silence.
I am night music curling around, lazy and forgetful
tuning in to footsteps, each wandering
cadence loping towards tone-notes of recognition
humming
sleep.
Marian De Saxe holds a Ph. D in English from the University of Sydney and has completed courses in Creative Writing at the University of East Anglia/Norwich Writer’s Centre.