Christmas at Kinglake
This winding, up and around, bend after bend, and all around
lacy green stockings, inside each one, the black trunk of a tree.
Around the bend, all is drenched in light, in this insistently blue
sky. The mountain stretches out like a hand: muscled but still, the
flecks of black frailer than insects — only the road a firm line. Black
stumps, capped with snow — no, capped with lime, beside the road,
tree ferns, fanning their wings in the sun. A sign: children crossing.
The road is so large. The CFA building, those three letters almost
the three sides of a cross. Around the bend, low flying, a parrot
fleeing, red winged. Wide open fields, filled to tumbling with
summer grass: pale seed, yellow flowers and sleek cattle, tails
flicking. Piles of trees bones, white as marrow-bones sucked dry.
A billboard says Lifeline. Are you feeling low? Don’t wait. Ring
this number. Letter boxes: one red, one green, the size of milk-
cans, one each side of the track. Behind the red, a bare patch of soil
turns up to the sky. Around the bend, a magpie: loud, full voiced
The song seems to come out of nowhere — blown along by the wind.
Susan Fealy is a poet and clinical psychologist. Her poems have been accepted for publication in a range of journals and anthologies including Famous Reporter, Meanjin, Etchings, Reflecting on Melbourne, and The Best Australian Poems 2009.