Underneath my palm
your silvered scalp
brittle goose egg
container of all our days
under my fingers our childhoods
hopscotch on the chalked driveway
squeals in the kitchen where you played magician.
Everyday I met you at the door
climbed on your lap to smell
the smoke in your jacket
pressed my cheek to your chest
to hear where laughter springs.
Beloved now I fit you in my palm
like a cap feel you quiver
fragile white and ticking.
Julie Watts (Western Australia)
First published in Poems 2013, Volume 2 of the Australian Poetry Ltd Members' Anthology, Australian Poetry 2013