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,…