FRONTYARD HARVEST
at three years old i ate grass/ that grew in the
shadow of our low red brick fence/ the spears of
grass looked like wheat/ with tiny aphids on the
stems & tips/ i became the frontyard harvester/ my
mother warned me not to eat the wheat grass/ in
case a tom cat had pissed on it/ but it was green
& sweet/ & my father said: listen listen/ the cat's
a pissin'/ whereabouts?/ in the grass/ where's the
grass?/ up 'is arse/
i sucked the pollen from the
huge tangerine trumpet flowers on the rubber tree/
by the towering brick trellis around the dark side
of the house/ sometimes its sweetness made me itchy
& angrily i stalked the clover with my bugcatcher/
chopping off the heads of white flowers with its
purple lid/ watching the flowertops & frustrated
bees go cascading down the funnel onto its aerated
floor/ in tumbling whirlpools of chaos around its
central focus a plastic leaf/
soon the bugcatcher
was full of toppling flowerheads & furry velvet
bees topsy-turvy stomping on each other's vibrating
wings/ i walked around to the front of the house/
& stood beneath my father's bedroom window/ & i
tore off the plastic floor & threw the bugcatcher high
into the air/ & all the flowers fell like soft hail
& the bees went somersaulting madly at the sun/ i
called out for my mum to watch but she never came
out/
so i turned to ant farming/ i built their
underground tunnels & tried to marry them/ but all
the green-headed ants died miserably behind sheets
of plastic/ their mauve upside-down bottoms, six
crinkly legs & sad antennas lifeless on the soft
bread & sugar/ which i had pushed down into their
crumbling worlds with a cotton bud/ i mourned the
families of dead ants stuck to the drying bread/ &
i abandoned the community & returned to the wheat
grass/
the thickest clumps grew in the shade of the
red brick fence/ my fingers & wrists inches from the
silent redbacks/ i did not fear them/ i knew that my
body was made up of insects/ my dark blood hovering
like little wings & my vision obscured by tiny black
legs/ i was warned to keep clear of that underside
of fence & mix with other children/ so i filled their
pockets with rocks & dirt & told them to roll in the
plum puddings & dandelions/
but something in me was
unlike the others/ i knew that i felt the frontyard in a
different way/ i named the dark fence 'the place of
unknowing'/ & what i knew then is unspoken now/ but
i knew that i must leave behind my frontyard/ that
one day i must leave the harvest to another child/ &
go beyond everything i have known here/ the butterflies,
ladybirds, spitfires, earthworms & cicadas/ the migratory
silvereye taking refuge from the wintry weather/
& the
silver skinks/ dewy & reptilian/ flat out on the warmth
of the low grey fence palings/ & the cold fragile lizard
eggs like jewels buried in the soft ground/ & beyond
the nameless fence of unknowing/ shedding tears that
cannot be shown/ & knowing words that cannot be spoken/
to the other kids riding bikes & scooters/ with plastic
rainbow ribbons streaming from the handles/ in negative
ions before the oncoming storms/ throwing laughter & rocks
at my reluctant frontyard feet from across the street |
