Anna Fern: Two Poems

Sandy Point

the track runs out with the

blue tide of soldier crabs

at Sandy Point

just my footprints

and the skewerings of a pair of nervy oystercatchers

left off, piping in alarm

cold shadows from the dunes creep down

the golden spell is broken

I’m lost

and wondering if I’ll find my way by nightfall

if I follow this wombat path through the prickly heath

and clouds of mosquitoes

and there you are!

a busy tussock by an ant hill

with flickering tongue, buttons for eyes

and a mat of caramel quills in chocolate fur

stop!

careful!

your black snout tastes the air

and now you’re a clump of spinifex

crammed against the warm earth

to wait the long wait

wishing I would go away

just leave you alone

there’s the fire break

I’ll be alright

and on the road back to town

I slow down for every hummock

Anna Fern

observations from an industrial estate

on my lunch break, I step around them

a flotilla

they slide across the footpath in the rain

away from the rising creek and throb of frogs

tiny grey cones, big browns and white turbans

wipe their feet on concrete

soft pulsing pearl pods

what do they make of this cement frontier

gastropod, stomach foot

rubbing and fretting lime and sand

when they were hoping for soft grass and kangaroo apples

next day the sun has dried the path

the herd has stopped

their varnish trails

soft streaks of pearly running stitches

feet parked, pointing north

gastropod, stomach foot quietly pulsing

brittle spirals

on the concrete path

unseeing

unseen

at the creeping warehouse frontier

Anna Fern