Topic Tags:
0 Comments

Genealogy

Katherine Gallagher

Jan 01 2010

1 mins

From my mother, the eyes of a waltzing woman—

corners to be negotiated with care, on tiptoe at times,

occasionally turning up the music, tuning in to her dancing days

before rock’n roll, invoking pasts

                                                       of piano, sax and drums.

From father’s side, I swerved with the curve of horses

blinked through a long line of trainers, riders, and pacers

who knew their place.

                                    Horses that could walk extravagant,    

that could canter into the journey, find their own way home.

My parents came together across tables of sheep and wheat,

alive to the dance of growing and harvesting.

She had her garden—it was as if she could always

carry it with her, along with keys to the family.

Comments

Join the Conversation

Already a member?

What to read next

  • Letters: Authentic Art and the Disgrace of Wilgie Mia

    Madam: Archbishop Fisher (July-August 2024) does not resist the attacks on his church by the political, social or scientific atheists and those who insist on not being told what to do.

    Aug 29 2024

    6 mins

  • Aboriginal Culture is Young, Not Ancient

    To claim Aborigines have the world's oldest continuous culture is to misunderstand the meaning of culture, which continuously changes over time and location. For a culture not to change over time would be a reproach and certainly not a cause for celebration, for it would indicate that there had been no capacity to adapt. Clearly this has not been the case

    Aug 20 2024

    23 mins

  • Pennies for the Shark

    A friend and longtime supporter of Quadrant, Clive James sent us a poem in 2010, which we published in our December issue. Like the Taronga Park Aquarium he recalls in its 'mocked-up sandstone cave' it's not to be forgotten

    Aug 16 2024

    2 mins