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CAROLYN STIRLING CROSHAW


Returning to Mother Earth


I curl to warm red earth
among native bulbs
and half-hearted rabbit burrows
shaded by she-oak trees
lay down on smooth-faced rocks
freckled with drying moss
speak in whispers to the rusty blanket
near the grinning bones of kangaroos
and worn trails to bull-ant holes
and when the wind plucks me away
I tumble with lovegrass spores
rise above clay pot chough nests
mingle with melaleuca and currawong
glide in grateful silence
to watch eagles
pick my bones