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Edition 63


Boodjar ngan djoorla

Country, my bones

MY BONES ARE in the soul of Country, and Country is in my bones. My veins are the creeks that flow to the sea and never quite reach it; walled off by sand, drying up in the sun. They only flow out, break the walls when the sky cries. The sky is all cried out.

In Kaurna Country[i] I found a Peppermint tree[ii]
I plucked a leaf and crushed it,
Held its scent to my nose
The scent called me home

But I have no home but the home in my bones
And the bones of my family scattered down the creek

I see a Hakea, they belong on Country, we have more of them in that place than anywhere else in the world. I see a Banksia, my Country is a theme park for lovers of Banksias. Those trees stride and sneak and flounce... Read more

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From Griffith Review Edition 63: Writing the Country © Copyright Griffith University & the author.

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