Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

Easter Sunday

by Graeme Lunn

Go and sit in the sun,” I said to my beautiful daughter.
“‘C’ is for dog,” she said as she read
The alphabet book that I’d bought her.
“‘C’ is for cat,” I replied
Thinking of my dog who had died
And was buried in the far corner of the garden.
“Let’s find some Easter eggs hidden by the bunny!”
“‘C’ is for cat,” she obediently said
And I patted her on the head and watched her run to that corner.
Though she didn’t know she stood above the dog below
And stared at a looking glass bush.
The bottlebrush was red and the eucalypt lean,
The bark hanging like scarves on a scarecrow.
Her serious eyes raked the scene.
The ground was clay baked hard as stone.
Cobweb’s skeleton embraced a larger bone.
We existed there together, the three of us ever.
The father, the daughter in the old garden,
Not knowing yet knowing, searching and growing,
The flowers resurrecting, the leaves reflecting,
Our wanting, our getting , our going.

Added: 04.04.2010