by Wayne Pollard

In the island remembered for apples,
A town straddles the Leven River.
That stream flows into Bass Strait and finds freedom.

From another place nestling on the Bass Strait coast,
When one wore shorts, Clark shoes and a jumper,
It was uttered in hushed tones that adults travelled in their cars,
To the town straddling the Leven River,
To be healed by the resident witch doctor.

Their hope was to be pain-free,
Not to enter the local hospital,
For it was believed in the town nestling Bass Strait that
You may have exited the hospital in a ceremonial canoe,
Paddling to the spirit world.

It is still trusted by Leven River’s people, when there is a full moon,
And the land is massaged by a gentle breeze,
That the shores become a sacred place of remembering.
It is a community-murmured folklore that on these nights, the spirits
Of the canoe peoples can be seen at the mouth of the Leven River,
Still paddling.

• From the Demented Echidna Poetry Collective, Drouin, VIC