By Jean Pearce.
Along the footpath above the row of outdoor tables,
Branches heavy with gum nuts,
Coral blooms drip with sweet nectar,
Red and green parrots hang upside down,
Peck and shriek like bartenders calling for last drinks.
Waiters ply customers with trays of Aperitivo, grins and café latte.
Friends drink Lambrusco with draughts of conversation.
Honey yellow sunlight through liquid amber,
The stroke of fingers,
Melted chocolate,
Warmth on the nape of my neck.
Splintered sunlight and shadows,
Being lost inside a room,
Lost in the crowd, tongue tied.
Lost inside the familiar morning, in a familiar place on a day like any other,
Lost in the pink macaroon smile of baby in a backpack,
Dachshund in a bike carrier sailing by, brown eyes gaze, glue sticky
– lost after losing a friend.
We whoop at nothing in particular,
Eyes wet with laughter,
Follow the pull and push of champagne and chicken,
Warm sticky plum pudding, raspberries,
Trickles of honey sunshine, blue sky, pine needles and watermelon.
Aimlessly we follow the long, grass green day
Down promenades noisy with children on shiny bikes,
Lie below poplars on damp grass,
Near she oak and peppercorn trees.
Doze and dream in the honey yellow afternoon light when trees are golden,
And air shot full of waxing and waning.
Long shadows of buildings with no beginning or end.
On we go, chasing the evening that stretches, rolls and murmurs with soft breezes,
Wander down sandy paths to the lazy blue horizon,
Where the meet of sea and sky kiss tomorrow.
Waves that break in lines, over and over,
A sharp downward plunge and splash as cormorant dive for silver mullet.
Dragon fly flits across the nascent pink moon
– traces reindeers’ sleigh.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jean Pearce works as a teacher, editor and writer. She experiments with language and form. Her creative work has been published in Geelong Writers’ and Grieve anthologies.
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