CLOSE TO HOME

A short story in verse

THE TRAVEL BUG

Mum doesn’t seem sick

but she says

she has

The Travel Bug

I watch for symptoms

coughing, tissues

chundering –

there aren’t any

Gradually

I begin to see

the signs –

Maps appear

in the car

in books, on walls

In conversation

On weekends

we begin

to follow

the maps

Pat, the dog,

bounds

in to the car

and we drive.

PICNICS

When we stop

out we pile

Pat first

thundering over thighs

anxious to get out

I reach

for the picnic box

my fingers tracing

the smooth curves,

the cane

yellowed with age

is full

of yummy food

and water for Pat.

We eat

salami and sauce sandwiches

and iced carrot cake

and watch swirls of steam

rise

as Mum pours hot water

from her thermos.

We run off

to explore

as Mum sips her tea

watching us

watching everything.

POOWONG

One day

we were tromping through

Henry Littledyke Reserve

Henry Littledyke

I rolled that cute name

around in my mouth

Littledyke

Littledyke

Suddenly Pat stopped

with ears pricked

and that intent look

that dogs get.

Then I saw

what she was gawking at

- A wombat!

Not the cute

little hairy sort

in books

but a huge animal

with wrinkled skin

like an old elephant

and mud stuck

on a huge bum

that was disappearing

down a hole -

a wombat hole,

so big

I could have slept in it.

GREENS BUSH

There are times we don’t take Pat

because sometimes

we are going

where dogs can’t go.

Pat loves to chase

frisbees

sticks

the vacuum

my brothers remote controlled car

skateboards

and balls

Pat doesn’t chase animals

but Pat does smell

it’s his doggy smell

and even the scent of a dog

can scare animals, birds, reptiles

from their homes

So, I was glad

we didn’t have Pat

the day we passed

the old gum trees,

so old

their trunks were yellow

and their branches

bent –

twisted and gnarly

With Grans arthritis

We saw wallabies

munching grass

right next to the track,

lizards

in trees

on the ground

sunbaking on posts,

echidnas

plodding along

in their funny waddle

long snout

snuffling the ground.

SHERBROOKE FOREST

Car packed

Pat at home with a bone

we weave through hills

watching the world whizz by

farms and houses

trees and shops

big machines building new roads

windsocks, paddock bombs,

big sprayers make little rainbows

and we hear the toot-toot

of a steam strain.

Then we pull out our picnic

under

the tallest trees

I have ever seen –

Mountain Ash

Mum tells us.

We eat to the squawk

of crimson rosellas

until I find

at the bottom of the box

a container of seeds

Mum thinks of everything.

We fill our palms with seed

and stand

arms stretched out

like scarecrows

while crimson rosellas

crawl on our arms to eat

I wrote a little ditty

on the way home

Rosellas sat upon my hand

And crawled along my arm

One even stood upon my head

When I stood still and calm

BUSHRANGERS

Three silver cars

at the side of the road

Mum stops our red one in line

and we rush to the track,

people pass us puffing

chatting, smiling

and I smile

thinking of bushrangers.

Perhaps not Ned Kelly,

but others

must have made their way

secretly

hats low

horses racing

to hide here

in Bushrangers Bay.

I picture treasure

buried

hidden behind rocks

pirate boats waiting

bobbing

out of weather

out of sight

I look up and see

huge rocks

standing guard

over the ocean

rock pools

big and warm

like a bath

Sparkling waves

roar and murmur

swooshing

over my bare feet,

Sand dunes

tempt us to climb them

and we slide down

spitting sand

from our smiles.

THE SUDDEN RIVER

It had rained for days

suddenly, the sky was blue

and we headed out

hurry-scurry

to nearby Buckley Reserve

We dart along

the familiar paths

passing

the rusted crumpled water tank

the ‘I’m a little teapot’ tree

The lomandras

that cut our hands

when we grab the

grass-like leaves

Down the hill we run

past the track to the furry bulrushes

past the track to the hidden billabong

and stop

at the river flowing across our track

A river

we had never seen here before.

We drag fallen logs

to crash across the river

and wobble

arms stretched out for balance

as we cross

our pioneer bridge.

MUM SAYS

Mum says

that she and Dad

used to love

to get away

and explore

Mum says

that when Dad

got sick

Home

was the place

Dad wanted

to be.

Mum says

that now her

Travel Bug

is awake again

she loves

to pass it on

to us

Mum says

that dad

would want

us to get

the bug too.

So, we’ve spent

lots of weekends

travelling

looking

learning

seeing

lots of places

that I had no idea

were so

close to home

Mum, my brother

and me.

ON THE FRIDGE

Four Bucky balls

hold a photo to the fridge

I don’t remember where it was

I don’t remember when it was

But I remember

Dad packing food, bags

Mum packing the car

Dad driving

Mum making the music loud

Dad and Mum singing

I remember

rocks

stones

boulders

a creek.

Spindly trees

Dad laughing

cups of tea

picnic table

I remember

an old town

exploring

fossicking

panning

walking

climbing

being

Together

WATERFALL GULLY

We left home

without a picnic

without Pat.

We followed a track downhill

wind softly whistling

through a sheoak forest

black cockatoos screeching.

Mum took our photo

beside a grass tree

with a trunk so black

and bent

it looked like a burnt

old deck chair

with green hair.

We spotted

the long white stream

of water

trickling

falling

over rocks

As we got closer

I could hear it

a bit like Uncle Bob’s

leaking toilet.

Leaning on the railing

we watched the water

the rocks

the birds

the valley

I saw flowers blooming

way down below

and I saw

Mum’s tears

soundlessly

follow a line

down her cheek

and gently drop

to join the waterfall.

PICTURES

My memory of Dad

comes

as random pictures

in my mind

Bouncing on

his knee

The Wheels of the bus

Go up and down

Me bouncing high

amongst the trees

on his back

he carried me

Running to him

our arms held wide

A big iced chocolate

with whipped cream

and sprinkles

A shiny plaque, Dad’s voice

Found here,

the oldest fossil of a eucalypt

in the world

Dad is my

oldest memory in the world

SOMETIMES

Sometimes

I want to stay at home

To play with friends

But Mum wants us

To go together

Bring your friends she says

I run and race and roll

laugh and look

climb and clap

discover and delve

explore and exclaim

sometimes with friends

always with my brother

and Mum

Sometimes

Mum tells us of a time

she was here with Dad

She paints a picture

with her words

so that I can almost see him

climbing over rocks

drinking from flowing water

hugging a tree

and me

Sometimes

I remember Dad

carrying me

in the bush

at home

in his arms

And always

I wish

he could still be here

with us.

COOLART

One hot day

I knew my brother

had caught

The Travel Bug.

He looked at a map

and found Coolart

Coolart

Coolart sounded like

a perfect place

to go

on a hot day.

Under

the spreading arms

of an old elm tree

we ate our picnic

then on the walls

of the Old Mansion

we looked at photos and read

some of the history.

Colourt

people had spelled it

when they heard the name

the Boon Wurrung tribe

had for the land

I wondered if

they had played with words

the way we did

with Dad

as he lay in bed

with the new puppy

under his thinning arms

and we talked about

pondered

thought about

thought of

a name.

NAMING THE PUPPY

The puppy lay

in Dads arms

fluffy and soft

against Dad’s crepe skin

Long white socks

on her front legs

short white ankle socks

on her back legs

What about Socks

Dad said, call her Socks

Sox

possible

What does dog start with?

D

Want to name her that Dad said

Dee

possible

Dad held her

patted her

while she slept

nose tucked

under her white tipped tail

Patting and stroking

Dad loved to pat her

pat her

pat the dog

Pat

Dad loved

that name

Pat

Dad loved to pat the dog

Dad loved

Pat the dog

Dad loved

SEEING NANNA

We packed our bags

to visit Nanna

The last time

I had seen Nanna

she sat

holding Dad’s hand

until Aunty Barb

took her away

She had looked

So old

So broken

So sad

So blurry

So not like my Nanna

NANNAS PLACE

As we came in to town

we breathed in Nanna’s air

full of beach and gum trees

Nannas little lavender house

sat amongst silvery gumtrees

black trunked wattles

and had a tree of eternal lemons.

A new path led

around a big circle garden

full of flowers

Marigolds, Johnny-jump-ups

Seaside daisies

Pincushion daisies

and Sunflowers, that always

turn their head to the sun

Before we even stopped the car

she met us at the garden gate

with her Nanna smile

and arms strong again

Strong she said

with sun and salt

and sea spray

Strong from shifting soil

planting sunflowers

striding across the sand

and wading

in the shallows of the shore

NANNAS BEACH

Waking early

to a koala growling, grunting

we let Mum sleep

and snuck out

with Nanna

to the beach.

The sand was cold

the air salty

the water calm,

rockpools shone

in the new day.

We heard the chattering

jangling tackle

of the yachts

as we passed by

to walk on our beach

Our beach

the one that only shows

at low tide.

NANNA KNOWS

Something white rolls

in a wave

and lands at the shore

I scoop it up, its prickly

a crusty mass of tiny circles

hundreds of them

entrances

to tiny round tubes

all joined to one another

supporting one another.

A colony of homes

Nanna tells us

made

by worms

Tube worms

that stick their homes

together

They stick together

I didn’t know

there were worms

in the sea

but Nanna knew

Nanna knows

Nanna knows about

worms

about growing things

about sticking together

Nanna knows

STARING

At the tiny raised line

of high tide

a penguin lay

washed up on the sand

dead

a dead penguin

the shine gone from him

I thought of Dad

Pat sniffed

Nanna held my hand

Nanna held our hands

and we stared

silently

for a long time.

HEALING AT NANNAS

Pockets bulging

with shells, driftwood

sea glass, stones

we climb the dune

to Nannas warm kitchen

and tip our treasures

on to the table

Like ants,

we scamper to and fro

all day

exploring

the beach

the rockpools

watching crabs

sea urchins

limpets clinging to rocks

and collecting

fishing line

rocks with holes

lead sinkers

plastic toys

colourful shell pieces

dried seaweed

and the white curved shell

of a giant sea snail,

our treasure trove grows

Rummaging through

Nannas sewing box

we find golden thread

and sew

our treasures on to

a washed-soft old tea towel

with faded pictures of

a black swan, a river,

wildflowers, red sand -

a souvenir from Dads

trip to Western Australia

before Mum

before my brother

before me

before Dad got sick.

WARMING THROUGH

We listen

to Nanna and Mum

Chatting

Telling stories

Laughing

through their

watery eyes

Cupping our hands

around a mug of hot chocolate

we sit at the kitchen table

eating bickies

admiring our creation

hanging from driftwood

in Nanna’s kitchen

We talk about

School

and picnics

and Pat

and maps

and journeys

And Dad.