Tina Kane: Melbourne Morning
Melbourne Morning
for Chris Nicholson
As I sat resting on a back verandah
a warm morning after the long flight,
taking in air scented eucalypt,
a dove cried and flew to land, startling memories
of watching doves dust bathe, one wing raised for hours,
sunning in your back yard, true Australians.
Some doves are natives here
the diamond doves, the peaceful doves,
the bar shouldered doves.
All doves mate for life, just once.
Your doves were diamond doves
or maybe ring necked turtle doves,
immigrants that picked up local habits over time, like us.
I could have guessed affinity
returning every year to find
them crooning softly in the dusty light,
your companions those solitary years
after we had flown the coop.
Still you were no dove, unless these gentle birds
conceal sharp wit and lashing fierceness
behind their cooing ways,
steadfast hearts.
Who knows in infinity how these things go?
Startled one morning, worlds away,
a dead dove at the feeder,…
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