Archive
Skink
The morning sun casts a square patch of light
Aslant our small backyard. My pyjamas hang
A shadow from the line, still in the still air.
Over the pavement cracked with weeds
The ants scurry, not unlike the back-and-forth
Of human life; never straight in line,
Their curlicues describe a welcome home,
A meet-and-greet, a touch-and-go,
An au revoir and Gott sei Dank.
Through that crazed milling, the skinks
(No longer than my index finger)
Slink under garden hose and dandelions.
Unaware I watch from our ragged doormat,
Their wriggled lives unfold like blades of grass
In the lightest summer breeze.
I suggest we weed the path
And instantly regret the change I force
From skink infested wilderness to civilized banality.
Francesca Sasnaitis is a Melbourne-born writer and artist, currently based in Sydney, where she is completing an MA in Culture and Creative Practice at the University of Western Sydney. Her poetry most recently appeared in Visible Ink 23, Verandah 27 and ETZ 02.
qarrtsiluni 