Joyfully Wrong

For Nat, in his 9th year. Follow Rossi Street to its terminus and you’ll find an unexpected fold in the land. It marks one possible end of the town of Yass. A geological circumstance—a fault—swallows the river and on either side the lolloping hills of the Southern…

Growing Pains

Before the day starts, in the small hours when waking means lying awake, you came to me with a pain in your leg. The pain of growing. Your bones and ligaments, muscles adjusting to each other. A dull aching that never achieves sharpness but whose intensity—lying awake—rises and…

The Sacrament of Cycling

for Nat, turning seven The tacit knowledge of a stride begins in the thigh, the four muscles of the quadriceps gathering, calling to the bend of the knee, tendons tightening, outstretching the calf, the ankle stiffening to encounter the unknown, fine bones of the foot splaying as they receive the…

The Dancer

[For Nat, 3 years old] Morning for me is all about weight. I rise and balance myself on the precipitous edge of the bed, teetering there and staring down into the day, feeling the flesh take hold. Gravity sucking on my bones. Bureaucratic little mind voice already listing off the…

Bed

I read to him most nights. His freckled abandonment to life now absorbed in other worlds, eyes searching out that uniquely human distance, seeing and witnessing. Hiding behind his hands to peep out at the unseen when it threatens our adventurers. Three stories, sometimes five, sometimes only one if Rabbit…

Words Between Us

For Nat, turning 2. I. It seems to me that, given the course of things, years will come when words will be no obstacle but catching each others’  meaning more than ever will elude. That’s my intuition anyway and I believe it has some claim to a foundation in…

Worn Leather

I have a leather satchel that’s getting a little worse for wear. It’s sitting here on the bench beside me. It goes with me. I wear jeans most days, and most of the pairs of jeans I have outlasted in these past years have perished because the fabric…

Words for a New Beginning

I remember the grainy start of a day, the light rotating on the clouds from the bottom-lit night orange to the dirty pink tops and faces, arranged behind the city silhouette somewhere near the origin of Parramatta road: the most primeval of Australian ways, the first of our journeys. [http:…