The Far Mothers

The Far Mothers.
When I listen ... and hear
the Celtic harp play my ancestral music,
my heart resonates, my mind soars
and my feet tap.

I am myself ... I am now
or I am my far mothers and sisters
back through time.

I am now in my Kombi Van,
on a street waiting for my daughter,
my future.
Lights flash and pulse from shop fronts.
It seems ordinary to my jaded 20th century mind ...
but the spirit is still there within us -
the strength, the joy, the far seeing
and the love - oh! the love.

Across red and green Australia’s land,
my true homeland,
away to the softness of my far and once homeland,
to the hearts of my mothers and sisters I am drawn...
in song ;in dance and in soul.

I know. I know. I know what the sounds are.

They are myself remembering
the wholeness of my world -
here, now, in the lateness of this century.
Here I am!
Sitting, waiting - a mother’s lot.
Hoping that the night and the bright stars
have watched over my child this time.
Hoping her feet and heart have found
the joy she needs to grow.

And here she comes now, walking across the centuries;
across the misty hills of greeness, she dances;
across the red deserts and green gum forests,
she whirls in spirals...
here she comes across the asphalt and trampled grass ...
to me.
Her long hair gently lifting;
her large eyes luminous, twinkling,
alive with secrets.

Ah!
The music!
My heart feels as if it could burst, gently.
My head feels tall and my feet are flying away,
bare and hardened across the centuries
to where my far mothers and sisters pause.

Middle child…some time ago