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CITY TREES
River Red Gum, it was Rob's favourite tree and he didn't know why, 'it's not rare,' he said, 'the river red gums are all over the country', as they should be they were, magestic trees they translate all the movement in river water and know the story there, no small wonder they are wonderous, and that escaped cockatoos and galahs in Royal Park, are congregating around the bases of the giants, as if it is here they will find their way back into their land, or to what was taken from them when they had their feathers cut, by the city traffic lights we will find them searching for food, it is truly amazing how no one notices them, there was a time when we caught a galah, how we did it I don't know, he was starving, we called him by his aviary name and here he comes, floating through the red gums like his stories, he was a tame and tragic bird, nicki went and bought the sunflower seeds so that we would feed him, before I caught him he was captured by my heart, the river red gums would not feed him as we all had hoped, as a partially tame partially native bird he was still not chosen by anyone, I slept at the foot of the river red gum, whilst the galah named 'cocko' too far gone, nestled into his wing feather overhead.
Lily Pily, crushed fruit and petals in the mud puddles, the lily pily is trying to reprodce itself, to reach the other lily pily across the inner city street, they have never spoken fully, the dry chalky fruit with the pink blossoming edge, as if the warmer weather brings on a blush, to make them fall head over heels in love with us, we only wish as such, there was somewhere for those seeds to go tonight, the higher younger branches of the city lily pily bend with the weight, fruit rolls into the gutter like furry marbles or pink bubble gum compressed and spat out, round enough to roller skate down the street, the leaves are a waxy hardy brilliant green, rain storms down them, as they drain the sky of all its grey colouring, and a torn horizon readjusts itself, they turn it blue and mauve and pink, the rain was heavy from the southern sea today, black ice on the roads, lily pily; collingwood has chosen you before you chose it, the fruits make me want to weep more than eat, the lily pilys are making me cry tonight, their open mouths and arms outstretched, that sad expression of everything given, nothing coming back.
Scented Paperbark, they split the council tree into two forks, to run the electrical wiring through, someone fell backwards and died with both legs up in the air, their rubber boots still left on and high enough to be conductors of lightning, the scented paperbark gives up quickly, peels off its own bark, drops off like a dressing as though it has received sunburn, no longer focused on the marsh but rather on generosity, it provides its blossoms for lovers and its bark for interior designers, the scented paperbark gives the street free natural paper in its spare time, yet beneath the gifts there exists the secret life, on the regular days the tree is attuned to swamps and sheltered humid coastal heaths, the ridges filled with bandicoots and muddy salt, at night the paperbarks walk back to the haunts, their branches twist into salty waves of restless coastal waters, they create the oceans by the headlands, returning by morning, you know they have been out late, it's an affair they will not tell you about.
Ironbark, the old red bough, with all its birds messing up the leaves, and its bark like the dry scubby woodland, that has never expected nor gotten rain, it doesn't care, all winter the rainbow lorikeet and small wattlebird competed for the branches where the largest blossoms rested, their raucous cries slip off the pollen through their beaks, these few birds flatter its presence here, once I climbed up the side of one and it felt secure, like I was young, like I was climbing onto my father's back for a ride to the big park, like a koala or a sugar glider would climb, this ironbark cradles the victorian wind, its free of its own mind, calling out all over itself, city trees - in many ways it was effortless, yet I can't express my rage, at us all being here together, I have as much hope as that old ironbark filling itself with wattlebirds, it's has been excrutiating without a voice, like a child who dreams of being kidnapped, and screaming silence from the throat, like trees who have abandoned their seed pods to concrete, they are holy, the city trees with no ecology, city trees, here without the gullies and the creeks, it is lonely. |
