Four poems
Gloria Dawe
Mum had unshakeable graciousness, although her hand executing cigarette ballet pirouettes put the fear of foreign emulsification in brothy ox tongue soups
Strong foundations based on love, respect and loyalty with times of grieving — an empath for a neighbour or relative
Intricate tiered wedding cakes for joyous milestones and she never cared for fancy gowns or flashiness; on the Granite Belt of Dalby in the Great Depression such opulence was unheard of
A rarity to hear her swear but should you take the Lord’s name in vain there were consequences and Dad was not immune to correction
Sweet toothed and I am telling you she could pick the best lollies — raspberries, mixed boiled assortments and my favourite red frogs
She doted and nurtured us when the seasonal flu, a household bungle or a serious disease came marching in
Her soft touch made you know you were in the best of care — lemonade, arrowroot biscuits with gentian violet antiseptic for gashes were staple
Medicine four decades ago was not as advanced as it is today, so natural remedies for colds, warts, infections were part and parcel
Sickness was a pervasive enemy for myself and twin Katrina succumbing to similar ailments having no doubt; without her dedication only my other siblings would have survived
This was evident when I was unwell for an extended time as per usual and my room was my isolation ward (so to speak)
A whirlwind vacuumed up the autumnal kaleidoscope leaves outside the westside Queenslander window, “Was that God?” I asked
“Sometimes God visits us in mysterious ways” and she hugged me, reciting that special moment always with angelic tears, rosary beads comforting her wrist
“Only the dateless and desperate are out on the prowl after twelve” she warned as I became a rambunctious adolescent
There was a rumour there we had Romany heritage but it was flippantly dismissed with the answer, “Merely a brush of Black Irish”
Weighing only twenty-seven kilograms in palliative care, her grandchildren receive confirmation and the blessed sacrament
A poignant moment transpired after Mum’s passing — a Praying Mantis stood proud on her casket — I hope it was humming her song — “Amazing Grace How Sweet thou Art”
Many pearls of wisdom I recalled that afternoon overlooking her slow descent as the eyelid of earth closed
“Grandmother Gladys said — on your knees in the garden you are closer to God Jamie”
On the second of January 1998 at the Drayton Garden of Rememberance the heavens opened up amidst the soft ghostly sway of Cypress-pines
“Happiness is the soul