by Veronica Troup

Infertile

We pretend
the land does not remember
who it was before we came
who it held, what it knew

When sand rises up
between our toes
between strawberries, carrots
set in rows
when tomato seeds shake-off
earth not borne in plastic

The land reminds us
this is a hill
made of dune
close to sea
you do not belong to me

Hampton East, VIC