Here on the wild, west coast,
near the great continent’s southern-most tip,
rest a while.
Here Eve’s footprints marked the rocks,
her children decorated the caves and adorned their bodies
in shades of ochre and red.
Stretch out, open your mind,
feel the sun-warmed rock, absorb the stone-etched stories.
Isn’t this the magic you’re seeking?
Drag open cupboards! Rummage the dusty shelves!
Words spill out; letters separate, scatter across the floor.
Photos flame to ash, picture frames’ contents
ooze sludgily down the walls.
You fling open a window. There’s a beach, sunshine and the smell of the sea!
Waves lapping; a boy in a boat.
He points and you look
but there’s nothing to see.
A sudden squall
slams the window
shut.
Here’s a door; chained and padlocked.
There’s a message, curled and yellow, stuck to the frame
A single word, written in your own hand:
No.
You step away, anxiously.
You know. Now
is not the time.
Turn away, turn back!
You trudge step-by-step
over the disturbed contents
of your untidy mind.
Empty handed.
Empty headed?
You take a breath, drain the mug of tepid tea and realise that
Today, you simply have
Nothing to say.
You were there when I arrived
You nodded in my direction
And I felt the warmth of your smile.
Your wit lit up the room
Your laughter sparkled
Your stories enlivened, inspired
Touched a heart; a nerve.
And then you left.
And it was as if
You’d never been there.
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