I remember days at La Pa
going out with the Aunties
to look for quandongs
growing on the hill
Selecting bright bush cherries
ready to drop
─ a bite too bitter still
for my sweet tooth
The women would laugh
as they sorted
patting hot-pink fruit laced
with wild honey
teaching us bush tucker way
Each ball rolled on the tongue
─ sent a sudden shock
to the back of my throat
A sweet sour hit
─ the after-taste
perfumed
with blossom
Image: Giuseppe Milo / flickr
