Garema Place

Artwork: Maddy Brown

At night

Garema Place is

 

rubber on corrugated cobble.

Spokes up against the stars.

Smoky aphorisms, phantasms of friend and lamplight

and trees shot through with thin red fruit.

 

Conversations drift away like a cold shower.

Riding in

and out again.

 

Garema Place is

 

a thing sharp and lucid.

Sitting lizard-like upon the base of my spine

draped across my ribs

in acid nostalgia.

 

Aching.

Remembering

and washing away.

 

Garema Place is

 

an escape

at least for a while.

 

Three bikes on cobble.

I feel a centring of myself

like planets coming into orbit.

Winter crawls in

as past crawls into present

and things, once done, never to be undone

are merely framed

and remembered.

Fruits, accepted and eaten, not for tomorrow

but for the day after that

and after that again.

 

Things once simple

are now entangled beyond belief.

But I’ve seen enough to know that

the horizon

is just over the next hill.