for my doctor J.M Gumbaynggirr Country
Frustrated with my computer and a little under the weather
I lie back on deck in the rocker and briefly exercise,
using my stomach muscles to roll back and forth.
Hardly the movies, gramps on a porch, white picket fence,
Native Americans safely corralled. Three Ibis soar, broad wings
looking solar-powered with clean white energy.
I almost go get my camera. A Pardalote’s skipping flight
deserts our garden for the forest. A fly buzzing round gets
the picture, I’m in savasana not decomposing, not carrion yet.
(The fly has no idea my mind is buzzing furiously).
I think I’m steadily coming to conclusion, the schedule tallied
by World Cups, family funerals, AI evolution or trips to the doctor
who wished me luck yesterday and again warned against sugar.
The sky holds a superb blue, such beauty sometimes hard to believe.
My core flexes embodied emotions, memories, muscle memory
and love. Lucky to still be here and able to ask, who am I?
And to notice the stub of a succulent from a brain in a skull,
(birthday gift) which Wyn, on a whim, rescued months ago.
It has survived and broadcasts two tiny precious flowers.
