sometimes remember Bondi
but the moments I’ve known
were in flats with bad circumstances
too much booze
or a car involved
phantom cigarettes
it can’t be the fires
the old smell of shared hallways
in run-down brick blocks
and the naphthalene of
grandparents’ blankets
with sea brine and
stale schooners, a scarred benchtop
we were there
remember?
it was only ever one night
here and there
upstairs
in Bondi
remember emerald grass
and the hot sky zinging
above a field laid out
to the left of a train line
a cloth unfurled
that curls to a valley
steep-walled with bergs
feels like the bluegreen ocean
in that it’s hard to know
whether the strongest desire
is to be in it, or observe
back once again
emotions shot through with
brine-cool air from outside
the world full of birds
and vines across the window
like it’s been a hundred years
clairevetica 