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Written about the floods and devastating losses by farmers in Queensland.
Mulla Mulla is also known as pussy cats tails.
A violent scene lay before me
Huddled in death, there’s Ella, Mary-belle, everywhere I could see
Swollen tongues, sunken eyes, frail bodies strewn in the hot powdery dirt,
I sniff the sharp stench of death, I catch my breath, swallow, stomach clenched, alert
Stark rocky outcrops, blister amongst the sharp needles of spinifex grass
Stones, sand and mica glints, ants scurry about their tasks
Red dirt, blue sky, sun bears down relentless upon the tin roof of the Station
Majestic hills, once coral reefs, the Chinamen pushed wheelbarrows up them, Dinosaurs, Indigenous people walked here long ago in my imagination
Soft bursts of purple feathery flowers of Mulla Mulla joyfully sway in the crisp air this morning, locked in the silent perennial embrace of that blue blue sky
Frivolous, dollies those desert girls, with their sweet smell and blush as I walk by
I think I’ll put a bullet in my head in that very spot
To die in such fine company, you make those tough choices on the land, easy as, why not
5,000 cattle dead, I’d cry, but there’s no more water in my eyes, in a blink, all gone so terribly wrong
I’ll sleep with my cows tonight, Ella, Mary-belle in the Mulla Mulla desert dreaming, on the land is where I was born and where I belong
Copyright © Georgia Kereopa | Year Posted 2019
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