my mother's sure of it
she's seen him
slipping into the cavity
between the pampass grass
and the old stone wall
that separates this place
from the vicarage next door.
I can see it all
from my window
and an aerial view
of roses
pond scum
and grass clippings.
Soon
I'm gonna take of these Wellington boots
and forget about
blue jays
and robin red breasts
and borrowed socks
and blackberry bushes
soon
I've opened every door under this roof
scoured cupboards
scaled staircases
emptied suitcases
and filled them back up with wonder
such wonder
i wonder if I fell asleep
six weeks ago
and haven't woken up yet.
Melbourne's winter
lies in wait
to pinch me
take my gypsy hat
and hang it up
sucking me back into the sheets
I chose myself
forcing upon me things unfinished
familiar
scratched and dented
dates
and responsibilities.
Close my eyes,
delay
reality
wait for the spinning top to topple
inhale cold air
and hold my breath
waiting
waiting
to wear that hat
those socks
and start the spinning top
in motion
again.
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