Coral Hull: Poetry: In The Dog Box Of Summer: Waratah

I MACKENZIE KNIGHT I A CHILD OF WRATH A GOD OF LOVE I FALLEN ANGELS EXPOSED I

CORAL HULL: IN THE DOG BOX OF SUMMER
WARATAH

I
i pictured a waratah/ the time i went
shooting/ with sickly sweet men/ from
girilambone/ with blood on their hands/
& bloodshot eyes/ noses bloody with the
thrill of heat/ & the thrill of the chase/
the strong sting of bullets/ sending the
big pig/ crashing into lignum/ at four
years of age/ i sensed something wrong/
with the shooters/ something dangerously
sweet & unstable/ i thought the waratah
doesn't grow here/ but the country is the
same colour as the flower

II
something unstable & dangerously sweet/
like the man with spearmint aftershave/
who shook my hand when i was three/ who
pretended to like me/ who began to crush
my unprotected fingers/ in a rush of rage
& weirdness/ that shot down my arm &
pierced me/ the adults around me didn't
notice/ but my nan saw him & dragged me
away/ his sickly sweet smell followed me/
his mouth deep & red & dark enough to
swallow me/ the waratah frightens me

III
i am two years old today/ my life is full
of bad sweet men/ with sickly dark breath
& blood on their hands/ my infancy is the
way we must smell to this country/ is the
way the waratah growing in the shadow/ of
the eucalypt touched me/ its fierceness
touched me/ i couldn't smell it/ it was too
harsh to touch/ too high up/ too deadly
beautiful/ don't pick it/ it's a protected
flower/ you're not allowed to touch it/ just
leave it where it is/ my mother warns me

IV
the waratah was in our rockery/ the time my
father got bashed up/ a plain clothes cop/
on the trail of a child molester/ i remember
his homecoming/ his teeth coming loose/ a
few he spat into my palms/ & i kept them
beneath my pillow/ my father came home/
gurgling on blood/ i remember the waratah
as a bloody flower/ the deterioration of
my father/ his emotional downfall/ the
splintering wood of the door/ my spirit
crashing with him/ my dread for him/ my
love for him

    

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