by KEITHA KEYES

home at last
we enjoy the freedom
of speaking
in our first language…
words just tumble out

dry creek beds
in the rust red soil…
from space
you would think
the Earth is frowning

shadows
creep into dusk…
I scan
the bushland
for kangaroos

in the currajongs
crows caw their lament
echoing
the loneliness I feel
now that you’re gone