By | 25 November 2019

Wild as a black Darug crow
She is lead on a chain. Behind a horse, arse in her face

black tail, flies flicking

The man shouts, his eyes
on her breast. Ragged white fella dress

Handed a tin pannikin of tea. Blessed drink. A sigh.
She stares at his boots. Fresh from kicking?
Refuses to look, rather sees his smashed skull
thinks how she’ll flee. 

Spit forms on his lips, curled, pale and bloodless
Shoot ya! She had no fear of: shoot ya.

She climbs trees, to spirit places

Dissolving in leaves, bark, sap and tree heart.
Become a tree like her father, fly like crow
Totem carved in triangles
Incised his chest, raised welts of ash.

Not like this skinny white fella

Snake belly skin, feeble and cruel. Arms like worms. Bandicoot nose.

Shoot ya he says and she cannot be touched .

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