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BRONWYN
MEHAN
Surfing in the middle ages
for Risa
- If old white girls had totems
- yours would be the swooping
eagle
- you see above Wedding Cake,
- mine the bin-hopping ibis
- I pass in Glebe park.
-
- Going in off Bondi rocks,
- eagle and ibis glide
- on streamlined eskylids
- across smoked glass
- cream carpet shark shadow
seaweed.
-
- Wait for the last of the set,
you say.
-
- The seventh wave towers above us
- a clenched fist.
- We launch into its rodeo
descent,
- braver together than we would
ever be alone,
- riding the foam-fueled bronco to
shore
- our faces luminous with joy.
-
- Wet-cozzie driving into an
oyster sunset
- we talk our kombi dreamtime,
invoke
- Nambucca, Crescent and Tallows.
- Return to our nest partners, TV,
Dencorub –
- sand grains in the bath.
Bronwyn Mehan now lives and writes in Darwin, which is
Larrakia for place without waves.
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