This is a poem i have been playing with for anzac day - for my north american friends, Anzac day is the day we commemorate the New Zealand and Australian troops who died in the wars we have participated in - Anzac biscuits were chewy oaty peices of goodness made for their longevity in World War 1.
The first part of the poem (before the letter) is supposed to be crossed out but i can't make that work here so please see lines through it all...
The Anzac biscuits.
The day they arrived was the day the cracks in my feet began to weep. The smell of rot broke through the smell of the mud And the munitions, And the blood.
Holding the package in my hand was like unwrapping a treasure from ancient Egypt. They were from a time and place so far from me. A time hard to believe in.
I wanted to be careful, To savour the moment, To listen to the whispers of your hands that had held this paper. Tied this string. Written the address. The hands I long to be touched by, Soothed by, Magically healed of all this horror and desperation and misery by.
But I was hungry So very very hungry. With the eyes of all the blokes on me, shouting silently “Get a bloody move on.” I tore it open. Carelessly. Angrily.
And they were gone. Those golden, chewy pieces of home. In a shower of crumbs and desperation, They were gone.
And now I realise, they smelt like paddocks of fresians, Like pipis on a beach fire, Like fantail flicking in the tea tree, Like fresh warm cream on porridge, Like the inside of the Four Square, Like coming in at 5 and smelling dinner on the table as I walk up the path, past the freesias and the roses.
But they are gone. Like so many of us from God’s own country in this Godforsaken place, Shared, gone.
SEND MOREDon’t send them.
My Bunk Ypres France 1910. Dear Glor,
All quiet at the moment so I can write you a quick note.
Oh love the biscuits were beaut. The boys and I loved them. Glad to see your cooking is still up to scratch. We will be so fit when we come back that you will be baking lots next rugby season.
Give the kids a kiss from me and tell the girls to stop growing so fast.
The colour of the sky *the ocean * Elizabeth and Maeve * people who reach beyond the ordinary * genuine generosity *good food * watching things grow * the miracle of birth *a woman's power *tenderness in all its forms * the cycle of life * courage * people with a sense of fun * compassion * beautiful jewellery * art that is made from the heart - without a view to the purchaser or the market but made because it has to come *Clarissa Pincola Estes * grace
LIKE SANDS THROUGH THE HOURGLASS THESE ARE MORETHINGSTHATITHINK
i welcome you with warmth and love to the thoughts that grab me .... and the way they come out of my fingers when i make the time in my day as a mother and artist and poodle walker to write them down.....