The Treasure
It happens
to us all
Eventually
Getting in
and out of bed
A contortion
Walking
from room to room
A victory
I remember
baths so inviting
bubbles in
the water
candles on
the counter
and wine
rich and red
voices in
the background
solitude
perfection
I could
stand up
From a low
chair
Travel long
distances
In the bus
Be a shopper
Enjoy a
cafeteria
Now I am
showered
Someone washes
my hair
Makes me a
sandwich
Prepares my
dinner
I have
lived so long
I have
become a treasure
Lunch
The dinner plate is large and round
Deep red around the rim.
The painted pear is yellow and green,
The apple, red and orange.
The plums are purple.
There are bright blue grapes
And pale green leaves everywhere.
Don’t you know I have a headache.
I decided I hate the world today
And I am happy with my decision.
I know where I stand.
In the middle of the plate is my lunch.
I pick up the sandwich.
It’s my favourite flavour.
It tastes delicious.
I glare at you, all defiance.
I eat my sandwich and enjoy it.
Damn you.
Moon
She dresses in long white lace,
Embroidered, intricate
and plays with the night
Our moon, her sweet face
So old, so young,
A girl, a crone.
The world sleeps
But I am awake
I welcome her whispers
Wrapped up in my eiderdown
In my cozy bedroom
Her rising and falling
Beneath the blankets
Her spirit kisses
On my eyelids
On my cheeks
On my lips
Her tresses
Brushing my shoulders
Before I was born
She was
After I die
She will be
Forever
While I live
All I can do
Is sing her song
Dad 2
He was a gym rat, my Dad. He hung out with the guys, lifted huge
weights, somehow managed to look skinny, held a NZ record for 12 years before
someone lifted something heavier. He was
a gymnast, a boxer, a referee. He was a
mans man.
They’d go hunting, him and his bro. Take the dogs. Up the hills, into the bush where the pigs
would go for your knees. He would slink
when he walked, just like Sean Connery when he was young.
He and his bro went fishing one time. Took the dog.
They got a leak. Dad rowed, he
was the strong one. Stacy got the water
out of the boat. The dog panicked. It was a dog.
He got to choose between a train and a car. He chose the car. I don’t know why. The train derailed. Slid down into the water. Everyone was trapped inside. They all died. They drowned, even the strongest swimmers. Most of his weightlifting friends were on
that train.
He broke his back.
Lifted something too heavy. He
healed, well, his spine did. Couldn’t
lift more than 90 pounds after that.
That was worse than the train.
He split up from my Mum. I went with Nana. The boys were with Mum. Dad drifted, eventually came to live with
Nana too. He found a job as a store man,
throwing around 60-pound sacks all day long.
Every night he sat at the piano. His thick gnarled
hands would get stuck between the keys.
He’d put a pencil behind his ear.
He would play Chopin. He would
write music and love songs to my Mum.
I would watch him from the staircase, broken body,
broken heart, scribbling at the staves, bringing his most beautiful poems to
life with the loveliest music.
Dad
In the front yard by
the wire fence, I watch him,
this man my father,
as he stands in the drain between
our building and the
one next door.
He is ten feet down
and busy with his task. He does not notice me.
Swish swish goes the
thick broom as he pushes the trickling water
from the long green
hose snaking from the tap in the center of the
front yard. It squeezes between a gap in the wire fence
and dangles
down the tall wall. The concrete border is almost clean now.
I saw it all, he
worked in the hot sun from one end of the gutter
to the other. He did not notice me. I must blend in somehow,
my small face
invisible, my gaze unfelt. I would speak
to him,
say hey dad, I am
here, watching. I want to be
friends.
He does not notice
me. He pushes the water into the drain
and slings the broom
over his shoulder. Then he climbs up
the ladder. He turns off the tap, shakes out the hose.
He gathers it up, winding
it around his arm. It settles against
him.
I would like to
settle against him, see his smile, feel his arms
around me, holding
me, hear him tell me that he loves me.
He does not notice
me. He puts the hose in the shed,
enters the kitchen. He turns and looks at me. “Are you coming in?”
I look at him and nod
mutely, follow him inside. The adults talk.
I go to my room. I look out my window.
They come and go, the
cars, always busy on the street.
People hurry along. Mothers with children. Families. Old people.
I hear him walking up the stairs. I hear his door.
He’s in his room
now. I could knock on his door, say
hello.
I have homework. I should do it. They know my name at school.
Fri 3 April 2026
It is now 2026. I turn 65 this year. I have written many poems over the years. I haven't posted them here. But I have decided to use this site for my NaPoWriMo work. I will be posting my work on this site. Today is April 1 and it is the first day of 30. I am attempting the 30 day challenge, one poem a day for 30 days. Wish me luck!
