Autumnal Refugees

We thought the summer would kill us.
The can opener sun so jaggedly,
drained all the days tipping out,
the dying pumpkin seedlings watered –
soldered by early morning there
to the ground under the iron bark.

The mountain will not wear the road,
one day it will shake it off breaking the bridle,
at the place the drays paused for passage
after landing at the Albert beach
to cross over to the light that
could not be entered from the impassable West.

I can see the driveway,
gold bordered in the chestnut and hazel,
pear olive and plum leaves,
the old orchard still believes the break
will come at its calling down of
resting sap and winter sleep.

The fire came after
three swirling plumes of
ignition to save another season,
decided out of control was the
only state to live by and in
after all the dry lightning had moved north.

Leaving the trucks on the small bridge;
refilling at the creek,
their lights glared out from the fog of
smoke and once particles so larger,
that leaping the track and starting again
was second nature.

Coming back to the house:
intact before the one hill left
stared out the forest’s slower vengeance,
scorched earth surrounding embers
flew high landing on the bigger leaves green
to die on the dry stalks wanting

Relief came unexpectedly with the currawongs
as they desperately took the last of the apples
the slow drumming getting faster,
the gutters whispering then shrieking
if you make a beacon anywhere
the wet curtain will overcome.

Like an old druid I am not –
wander the broken trees now
to see the feel of creviced bark there.
My hand fits in to the place of a heart with several chambers,
life throbbing quietly to know
the truth in the mountain’s handshake.

Autumnal Refugees was first published in A Sudden Presence – Anthology of Short Listed Poems, ACU National Literature Prize 2013 and in The Leviathan’s Apprentice 2015