Fleeing Syria's pious knights
The re-run1.Splashing happily ashore,they land amid the tanning limbsthen keep on veering north.Not everyone has made it though;a three-year-old with little shoes,washed-up face down in Turkey,is flicked around the world.2.Google Earth within the palmhas shown them where to head —though not exactly wherea phone can be re-charged.3.The poorer half of Paradise,is rolling out barbed wire,remembering the Ottomansin 1529.The pious knights of 1640,those fine sectarians,who charged for thirty years acrossthe northern sweeps of Europe,are born again in Syriawith new nomenclatures;so once again the haplessforesee it's time to move.4.Doctors, dentists, engineersstraggle with them also.Not all who flee are peasants, shepherds,luckless artisans.Mixed in with the cheerless too,some Warriors of God who planKalashnikovs for later.5.There were some cheers in Munich stationbut not all Eden proves to beso free with food and toys.There's something deeper in the blood.They have that sense of déjà vu:horsemen, pikes and princes.6.We're back in 1640 but wenavigate by phone.Playground 101'Hello, Other Girl. I'm Milla',she chirpily begins,just gone two and proving fluent.'Other Girl', we're told, is 'Freya',somewhat shorter, no less smart.Two mothers and a grandpaare talking here together.'Race you to the swings!' yells Freya.A life-long bond begins right here.As we converse, they climb and swingand chase from this to that,shouting backwards over shoulders.Short or tall, there's no distinctionon dips and slips and roundaboutsas now two older kids appear,a boy and girl of Milla's height.We adults, keeping half an eye,are following the plot.Allegiances are all forsworn.Freya runs away at speed.With all this new sophistication,Milla's hardly seen her leave.She's climbing with the big kids nowbut something's not quite right.She's noticed Freya standing there,forty metres off, as ifabout to stamp a foot.At this point, Freya, 'Other Girl',runs to join her mother.Our gossip's not much interrupted.Then Milla comes up too and asks'Why you cwanky with me, Freya?'Freya, holding close to mother,offers no reply.The older two, the boy and girl,who'd not announced their namesare walking off without a wave.It's not quite practical to chase themso Milla has another try:'Why you cwanky with me, Freya?'Our adult, anodyne there-therescan cut no sort of ice.'Time we all went home,' we say.Playground 101. All done.The future's on its way.
Geoff Page is a Canberra-based poet. His most recent books are New Selected Poems, Improving the News andAficionado: A Jazz Memoir. He also editedThe Best Australian Poems 2014.