Sport 38: Winter 2010
Nan
Nan
Nan is so close to the earth,
folded like a sheet
over the back of a chair.
She can't see the sky until
we hold her arm and
she twists her neck around.
She recognises us by our feet
and knows where we have been
by our footprints.
She walks among the horses,
they follow her like dogs.
She could walk right under one
and they wouldn't know.
She picks up twigs and sticks
for the small fire and big fire,
her cardigan pockets full of
rustling leaves and bark.
The little orange machete always
in her hand feeds all her secret
stashes of wood, under the bed
and in cupboards.
She will lean down a few more
inches and go into the ground
outside in the big paddock where
she sits chopping at wood,
making soldiers to start the fire,
lining them up to dry in
the sun along the fence line.