And for the next, I worry.
If the past is any indication of the future,
My fears are justified. But we will see.
May their efforts, our efforts,
Make a difference.
For if they don’t? What next.
When all is said and done,
And the pieces lie scattered and broken,
How far is the way back?
How hard to search, blindfolded, bound,
And dream of the sky.
So, I wrap myself in Country,
In possum skins and the wisdom of my Elders.
I soothe my scarred heart with the whisper of the wind in the gums,
With a mother’s crooning lullaby.
Will that be enough? I do not know.
Enough to heal.
Enough to forget.
Enough to reconcile past, present, future.
So, for the next, I worry.
