Your jewels and cut and my chopped dress
and awkward husband
in the lounge where he slinks
in a puff of
Hansel and Gretel jump from the idling ute
Sliced moon, you frolic
and robes sass my dirt floor
while I tear my hair, my brother’s footprints chip
and old flowers drop as you crony
through pamphlets of behaviour
for your blow-in – old admirer in his hushed shirt
proffering a bar stool while my herd goats bleat

Aztec’d life of laurels and libations
who died in the cause
I texta out stains and mistakes on my clothes
and pan the earth for ribboned hope
apart, a clue, his grassy voice cracked like an axe
or false memory that shoos you to a bride
A king at work a cairn at home
when night clumps like a jigsaw
You choose the finish and intent in your spiralled city’s
claimed suburb where I’m hostage to your incursions
your whim to broach my brother’s track
his beauty has left me that used to crinkle air. I tramp through ash
to look for the most wished for