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On the Lawn of the War Memorial

   for Juan Carlos

 

 

 

 

WWII artillery pieces point north and west. A flagpole stands quietly at attention amid the smell of mown grass and eucalyptol. Thin-fingered gum trees wave their leaves above scattered picnickers sprawled on rugs.  A Frisbee hovers in the bright blue overhead, an orange flying sau­cer. It sinks towards a tall scraggle-bearded teenager like a golden plastic sunhat. He snatches it out of the warm air as it floats by.  There’s a smile on his lips when he tries it on his head, then whirls it to the top of a eucalyptus. Tangled in the mottled bark of the branches, the straw-colored plastic pauses, then flutters to the grass. An elderly grand-mother clutches it, now a rough woven straw hat with floppy gray brim, to her chest. With delight and a surprising stride, she flicks it skyward.  It spins, soars and sails on the light wind, dips and dives, straight into my hands. The loose straw weave feels unexpectedly soft in my fingers and palms.  As I cradle it like a bowl, the floppy brim folds downwards and folds again, until the round shape is a small pulsing bindle with a throbbing heart like a kitten perhaps, moving and warm.  As I open my fingers, the tawny shape filigrees to feathers; an auburn-breasted robin unfurls gray wings, pushes my hands apart, and flaps its way to the tree tops to disappear in sun and light.

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