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Video clip from Shadow of Eden by
Rachael Romero on the Magdalen laundries of
Australia
(c) Rachael Romero
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"Corra Lynn"
Northern Tasmania 2004
On Reflection
Fixwrite Press - 22 pages
An introspective look at
self and life
Contents:
Ageless
The Gravel Path
Voice from the Heart
Mother Love
Traces
I Used to Dance
Genetically Speaking
Rainbow Dreaming
The Sense of Love
It Began on a Thursday
A New Beginning
Footsteps in Time
Seasons of Grief
My father
Corra Lynn
In the Park
Drought
A Lifetime
Corra
Lynn
he stood
in the footprints of his boyhood
feet spaced to balance
on the coarse sand
held captive in time
between rounded rocks
he stooped
and chose his stone with
care
flat smooth and obedient
to his toss
across the still water
of the bowl of the river
until spent
it fell with natural
grace
to the floor of river
bed
where it found a niche
to rest and remember
crossing the divide
he looked
through the ripples
of his image
and his boyhood
retreats
to the recesses of
his memory
and he settles with
grace
into the embrace of
age
© Merlene Fawdry
I Used to dance
My mother is almost eighty
living in a housing commission unit
that she loves
because it has two balconies
one front and one back
with the relics of her life
sandwiched in between.
A crocheted cushion
hides the worn upholstery
of the overstuffed armchair
salvaged from another time
photos of generations adorn her walls
and shelves
and the top of her gas heater
… scuse the jug … she says
as she tops up the weak tea
from a plastic milk carton
into a cup that has been kissed
by countless other lips.
… I used to dance you know …
at the Crystal Palais …
Palais … not palace …
I danced everywhere in Melbourne once …
And as she speaks
her feet move in a memory
of some long ago dance
ankles swollen with time
transform
into the slender limbs of her youth
and the young girl is still recognizable
in the twinkling eyes
that caught the attention of my father
and other forbidden loves.
I share her joy in a life well lived
and shield my sadness from her
for the those she left behind
… 'scuse the jug … she says again
as I make a polite move to clear the table
in preparation for saying goodbye
to ease the parting
… thanks for coming to see me …
I used to dance you know
…at the Crystal Palais.
©
Merlene Fawdry
MOTHER LOVE
And the voice came down the line
raucous in a third generation Irish in your cups kind of way.
How are you darling she asks?
And I say okay
and marvel at the sound of a mother calling me darling
because that is not what I remember
of the other mother
who took me from birth
and called me lots of names
...but never darling
and the most important thing lost to the adopted child
was returned to me in the voice of this woman
this brawling drunken Irish descendent
who despite our separation of years
still knew how to address her child
to make her feel her mother love
… darling she says again …how are you?
©
Merlene Fawdry
SELF
I sometimes sit
in silent observation
of the self I have become.
Disconnected
from this stranger before me
I know not this old lady
who walks so carefully
so slowly
on ponderous legs below unwieldy body
low slung breasts saying in time
with the jutting buttocks.
She is someone’s mother perhaps?
Someone’s grandmother?
Great grandmother?
But I know her not
for she is not me
and I remain detached
happy to turn my back
and walk away
because I know who I am
I am the slim beauty of my youth
with smooth skin and shiny hair
and sturdy legs that tread surely
and confidently
into the mysterious future that awaits us all
and ever I will remain
because to connect with the person before me
means saying farewell forever
to the person I know myself to be
©
Merlene Fawdry
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