From this grassy paddock,
above buried bones
and bullet shells,
misplaced rocks,
barbed-wire fences
and wooden gates,

In its rich history,
I look at you.
and everything seems anew
but connected.

As though the grass still nourishes
the animals buried beneath it,

As though the bullets are not yet shelled nor dispensed from the barrel,
as a second thought,
that maybe they don’t need to be.

I look at you.
You raised me on this land
and to float through flashes of life with you
is a magic to me

reaching across this land,
past gum trees,
olive trees,
acorns and lavender bushes,

past tall grass,
snap dragons,
chrysanthemums,
pink roses,
ferns and sunflowers.

gravel roads and red earth,
frogs croaking in the creek,
kookaburras laughing in the trees,
and crickets creaking through the drought-riddled earth.

Whenever I question myself,
Whenever I trip off track,
I try to pause

and think of you.
Your blood pumps through my veins

and I nestle into the memory of your arms when we’re far apart,

I listen to your soft, eloquent voice as it breathes through my well-kept recollections of you,

You

are the earth, blood, flowers, books,
knitted socks, warm dinners, fresh orange juice, bakery stops,

water slides, diving boards, camel rides at the carnival,

winding car rides,
sun-pressed bedsheets,
morning cartoons and cuddles,

ice cream with sprinkles,
beach days and boogie boards,

circus shows and 3D movies,

games of chess and library visits,

You

represent every breath of life
I like to call home.