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My Oldest Memory
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Bowerbirds
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1
I cracked my knuckles, and I said grace
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And gave thanks for being a hundred and still feeling amazed.
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Out where the waves wrestle with the dirty brine,
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This is a lonely place. This was a home of mine.
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After the struggle, Id watch the sand settle
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Over the quiet reef. Its my oldest memory.
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And I dont know whose land were on.
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Is this an island that plots like a villain,
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Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?
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I dont know.
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I curse the weapon we stub our toes on.
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Its the land of make believe, cant you see, cant you see?
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Now in the dirt where I put my feet, and in the trunk of my body,
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Im only shy, here, when I want to be, my head between my cypress knees.
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And in the top of the canopy of the trees I am climbing,
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The morning sun here, you will see. Its my oldest memory.
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And I dont know whose land were on.
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Is this an island that plots like a villain,
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Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?
20
Is this an island that plots like a villain,
21
Or an old ghost friend we dont believe in?
22
I dont know.
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