over there
 The Mother's Story

It is in wanting to know that she is often deceived,
prophesying to her bones and then seeking to translate
into words what is always being written in fevers,
in heartbeats,
in luminous songs ...
never knowing what it is called.

If only she'd been the aunt,
the long and yellow
legend of Australian

Then she might have written:

When the world has been reduced
to a single dark wood
for our four astonished eyes --
to a beach
for two faithful children --
to a musical house
for our unclouded sympathy --
I shall find you.

  Diane Caney, 1998
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