I cycle at dusk, most days.
Today I left at high noon,
the light scorched the damp from my skin
and the wind drew me to tears.
I saw a heron,
propped by a dead arm of driftwood.
half sunk, stick their noses to the wind.
Heron, resolute, eyes fixed beyond
the silent erosion gnawing the sand bank
that churns the eucalypt-green water into mud.
In command of the wind, the violence of living,
he waits for the season’s bloom
the blood in the water to signal –
he is fleeting of this place.
Helena Bryony Parker is an emerging writer and poet based in Sydney. Her work can also be found (here) in Volume 7 of the poetry journal ‘Not Very Quiet (September, 2020)’.
Readers’ original and unpublished poems of up to 40 lines can be emailed, with postal address, to firstname.lastname@example.org. Submissions should be in the body of the email, not as attachments. A poetry book will be awarded to each accepted contributor.