A steed sculpted from driftwood
casts a shadow, hurdles time, pegasus-like,
to the orchard of childhood, to my father’s click
of tongue, slap of reins on draft-horse rump;
grip of sun-scoured hands
on shafts of plough;
a blade churning loam
into worm-rich furrows:
clefts between lemons, loquats, figs;
the glint of sweat; his off-key whistling; commands
of ‘get a move on’, ‘whoa’.
I sit with this memory,
ache to touch his face,
bridle the timbre of his voice.
In response to Timber by Darcey Schouten, Perth Art Gallery until June 13th 2016.
1 March 2017