Thief

It was years before I dug her out
From where her shadow lay, like a bloodstain
Beneath the black stones I had
weighted her down with.

Her smile was crooked,
She had been dead awhile.


Back then, when the small child watched,
She said she was a relative. She beckoned,
A sweet promise coated the lips that kissed, like honey,
But her eyes were empty already.

When the child reached small hands
Into those holes, she found nothing
Behind the sounds the mouth made,
But the tongue flapping.

"Come live with me!" it cried,
Nostrils spread above like nose wings
As if the face would take off from its neck-end
Like a ghastly bald crow.

Seeing her mother was a shadow not hearing,
The father not found
To know his daughter was disappearing,
The child became blank, wiped clean like a pale sea stone.

Made herself as hollow as a dead tree,
Not worth having.
Her days were as lost as marbles, even her name
Had rolled between a crack in the floorboards.

She was stolen after all, and in her silence
The visitor grew dim. Uncertain. Receded like a dull fox
Just before dawn, barely left a scent behind
On door frames and bed linen, then was gone.


From WOOROLOO (HarperCollins, 1998)