05-06-2015, 06:12 AM
Edit #1
The monkey puzzle tree
I can’t climb the monkey puzzle tree.
It’s not just the pointed scales
on branches tangled together
like a mad woman’s knitting.
The white dust that covers them
puffs into my eyes and stings.
I can’t pick a clear path up
from branch to branch.
They’re from Chile originally; there are
no monkeys in Chile. This one grows
in my father’s aunt’s front yard. No garden,
no shrubs or flowers, just this tall ugly tree
in the sandy soil beside the estuary, some
marram grass clumps here and there.
My great aunt has died. Relatives
are cleaning and sorting out her house.
She had bad lungs. Mum says
bad lungs run in that side of the family.
She says I’m too young to help.
I have nothing to do but wait.
I listen to the whisper of wind
through the tree, watch as clouds
of dust from the cement works
on Marsden Point make their way
slowly over the water
towards me.
First draft
I can’t climb the monkey puzzle tree.
It isn’t just the pointed scales all over
its trunk and branches, tangled together
‘like a mad woman’s knitting’ says Dad.
I can’t pick out a clear path up
from branch to branch and it’s covered
in white dust that puffs into my eyes
and stings.
Sailing ship captains planted these
all over the Pacific. Their timber made
strong masts in an emergency.
They’re from Chile originally; there are
no monkeys in Chile. This one grows
in my father’s aunt’s front yard. No garden,
no shrubs or flowers, just this tall ugly tree
in the sandy soil beside the estuary, some
marram grass clumps here and there.
My great aunt has died. Relations
are cleaning and sorting her house.
She had bad lungs. Mum says
bad lungs run in that side of the family.
I have nothing to do but wait.
I listen to the whisper of wind
through the tree, watch the cloud
of dust from the cement works
on the far side of the harbour
make its slow way over the water
towards me.
The monkey puzzle tree
I can’t climb the monkey puzzle tree.
It’s not just the pointed scales
on branches tangled together
like a mad woman’s knitting.
The white dust that covers them
puffs into my eyes and stings.
I can’t pick a clear path up
from branch to branch.
They’re from Chile originally; there are
no monkeys in Chile. This one grows
in my father’s aunt’s front yard. No garden,
no shrubs or flowers, just this tall ugly tree
in the sandy soil beside the estuary, some
marram grass clumps here and there.
My great aunt has died. Relatives
are cleaning and sorting out her house.
She had bad lungs. Mum says
bad lungs run in that side of the family.
She says I’m too young to help.
I have nothing to do but wait.
I listen to the whisper of wind
through the tree, watch as clouds
of dust from the cement works
on Marsden Point make their way
slowly over the water
towards me.
First draft
I can’t climb the monkey puzzle tree.
It isn’t just the pointed scales all over
its trunk and branches, tangled together
‘like a mad woman’s knitting’ says Dad.
I can’t pick out a clear path up
from branch to branch and it’s covered
in white dust that puffs into my eyes
and stings.
Sailing ship captains planted these
all over the Pacific. Their timber made
strong masts in an emergency.
They’re from Chile originally; there are
no monkeys in Chile. This one grows
in my father’s aunt’s front yard. No garden,
no shrubs or flowers, just this tall ugly tree
in the sandy soil beside the estuary, some
marram grass clumps here and there.
My great aunt has died. Relations
are cleaning and sorting her house.
She had bad lungs. Mum says
bad lungs run in that side of the family.
I have nothing to do but wait.
I listen to the whisper of wind
through the tree, watch the cloud
of dust from the cement works
on the far side of the harbour
make its slow way over the water
towards me.