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Missing Surfer

Monday, 7 May 2012

Helicopters sob around the headland,

shaking the air in my bedroom like a jar of military buttons,

Swooping and searching,

belligerent with fear,

as noisy and vigilant as mating wagtails.

Bomboras rumble through my bed base

with the violence of a drunken argument.

Slapping waves chastise the cliffs

for the boldness of tourists and surfers:

like my absent lover,

last seen board under arm

careening toward Tamarama,

seeing only paradise in the turquoise swell and foaming rocks.

Out my window, blue sky, endless sea.

My home barely above the water line

perched on a ridge of sand and stone,

cracked, salt burnt and impermanent, but safe for now

cradled in lavender, hibiscus and grevilleas

Birds breakfast unperturbed on the blossoms.

Ignoring the lazy gaze of a grey cat in sun soaked fur

and the unremitting arcs of the rescue ‘copters.

Luxuriating in my cotton cocoon

I think of tea and toast with cumquat marmalade

Snoozily procrastinating.

My smiling love returns with bleeding feet.


Poem: Edwina Blush

Photography: Jeremy Hudson

Edwina is a Jazz vocalist, poet, poetry performer, singer and songwriter.



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