Night air poem
Type
Poetry

Night air

In memory of my grandmother

The full moon washes the garden in light.

Bare branches of elm, a tumble of ferns,
each stone on the path from my mother’s house
to the door of your own.

In the notes of the mopoke’s song
descending again and again,
I fall through night air.

Think of your hands, still warm,
reaching across the bed
as you close your eyes.

High winds shunt the ragged clouds
so it seems the moon
is skating backwards.

I want to keep holding
the hand that held my own
as a child.

Loss is a pure tone
released from the body.
A note in the darkness

descending again and again.

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Vanessa Kirkpatrick lives in the Blue Mountains. Her first collection, To Catch the Light (2013), won the inaugural John Knight Memorial Poetry Manuscript Prize and was commended for the 2013 Anne Elder Award.

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