Leaps and Bounds (LAB)
Outside was a thumping never heard before
on my street of 40 years, I slid open the fly-screen front door
Blinked thrice to be convinced of what I could see
She seemed real, but my mind and heart did not agree
A first time visitor, yet she truly belonged
Majestic, strong, poised
(and that was just her eyelashes)
A vision.
A song.
Comfortable in her skin of bronzy tan
Calm
Curious
Where exactly did we stand?
Where are you from?
Here. You?
Here too.
What chai does one serve a kangaroo?!
This quandary dissolved with her lightning response..
“Darjeeling or Oolong or Sencha will do!”
I welcomed this worldly being inside.
Closed the door behind her and smiled deep within
Keep the flies out and let the kangaroos in!
Join me at the round table, this old chair can unfold
I served my delightful aromatic liquid gold
In many cultures it is believed
the guest is God themselves
entering your world
All knowing all glowing
I extend my arms open wide
To this unexpected charming visitor
Divinely bonafide
We tour the garden, our views align
Chillies, flowers, long beans on a vine
Each funky vegetable I explain
Paws on my shoulders
We form a soul train
Home-made mixture and murukku were the side snack.
We crunched and sipped together in our cul-de-sac
Exchanging stories of community, freed from ways convoluted
Through lands, time and people, dreams reconstituted
The guest at home.
Friendship found.
Surprising each other
on our common ground
Inspired and based on the highly unusual actual event of a kangaroo travelling the streets in residential suburban Whadjuk country (Willetton) on 26/9/23 at 9:25am on a Tuesday morning. This poem like all my artistic work centres on themes of belonging, migration and home and acknowledges the Traditional Owners of the land and my respects to Elders past and present. All my artwork is an attempt to explain to my children all the cultures that they belong to. It is also based on false events of my mum serving chai and glittering conversation to a kangaroo. But the lady is so darn charming this imagined delightful scenario would be believed by many.
Background
A kangaroo on their street is a sight my parents have never seen since migrating to Perth in 1969. This poem is about the honour of receiving a guest, new migrant, refugee, elder. My parents have made and welcomed many friends old and new to their garden over the years and continue to do so. Helping where they can, providing conversation, humour, and a break from the everyday in over-scheduled times. Friends often also leave with generous amounts of curry leaves, funky gourds, chillies, mangoes and other treasures home-grown in Boorloo soil.
A fond childhood memory of mine is from 1980 an elderly couple who moved from rural remote WA to the city into the house next door and told my parents “You mob were the only family to invite us for dinner out of all the Australians on the street!”. 7yr old me had so many questions.
“Acha are we Australian? “ I asked my Dad.
“ Yes. You were born here so Australian - Indian” He replied the tip of his nose making an air drawn infinity sign
.”Which makes you Indian - Indian?
“ No” He replied the tip of his nose making exactly the same air drawn infinity sign
“ We belong to 2 - mobs.”
“Those who like mangoes and those who don’t? ” my sister contributed and continued . “My teacher said we are who are based on where we pay tax!”
“What’s tax?” I asked
“Legalised robbery!” Our neighbour was still with us “Aren’t we all just one big mob?”
“Well if it’s the places we live that makes us who we are, are you Indian - Ethiopian - American - Australian?”
Faster infinity signs.
“Well that’s just too long man. Its not just where you live but what you commit to, where your community is, where you plant seeds.”
