<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
narla walks past the lounge room window in winter sun<\/p>\n
as I\u2019m trying to finish a short story\u00a0\u00a0 feline fluidity now<\/p>\n
a disconnected index\u00a0of tentative movements<\/p>\n
her nose is her new eyes\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 but she misjudges\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 jerks<\/p>\n
backwards at every sniff\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 the lawn is a featureless wasteland<\/p>\n
she zigzags in slowmotion\u00a0\u00a0 the same ground she once covered<\/p>\n
like an arrow. wends her way to the fishpond bumping blinking<\/p>\n
into branches.\u00a0 visions of blindness.\u00a0\u00a0 that night in the shack on<\/p>\n
hindmarsh island coming back from the toilet to the bedroom<\/p>\n
in the no-moon dark\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 fixed action patterns of habit retracing<\/p>\n
steps\u00a0 headbutting strange walls\u00a0 a rat in a maze, cornered until<\/p>\n
i realise i\u2019m in the wrong room.\u00a0\u00a0 the blind man at the bus stop.<\/p>\n
watching him through the restaurant window\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 coins falling to<\/p>\n
footpath\u00a0 probing the dirty concrete with the backs of his hands.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
the fish need not fear. my blind cat\u2019s come to lap their universe.<\/p>\n
what is to be done with this decrepitude? is it kinder to end her<\/p>\n
life?\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 or must we all accept we\u2019re past our prime<\/p>\n
i remember my grandfather watching in awe at\u00a0 boyish<\/p>\n
sure-footedness as i rockhop barefoot over the breakwater,<\/p>\n
his awe\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 a discarnate nostalgia\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 for muscle-memory.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
narla takes one step down from the pond\u2019s rim\u00a0\u00a0 she extends<\/p>\n
her nose several times\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 indecisively pussyfoots air<\/p>\n
makes contact with the ground.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
my father\u2019s last month in the nursing home. his last chapter.<\/p>\n
we had all peeked at the last page.<\/p>\n
watching him, sharp acuity dulled, pale ghost of his once-self.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
it\u2019s kinder on the birds\u00a0\u00a0 the mice\u00a0\u00a0 the insects she\u2019ll no longer<\/p>\n
present to me on the coir-mat platter.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 completely harmless.<\/p>\n
her mercury motion solidified and leaden. she crawls into<\/p>\n
the watery sun and sleeps as well\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 as she ever did.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
leaves the decision to me.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u00a9 rob walker<\/p>\n
(originally published in The Cortland Review<\/em> as both a text- and audio-poem, Feb, 2012)<\/p>\n http:\/\/cortlandreview.com\/issue\/54\/walker.php<\/a><\/p>\n Also in tropeland<\/a> (Five Islands Press) 2015<\/p>\n Also remixed with music as Narla (with Speck) on ccmixter.org<\/p>\n http:\/\/ccmixter.org\/files\/speck\/36135<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" narla walks past the lounge room window in winter sun as I\u2019m trying to finish a short story\u00a0\u00a0 feline fluidity now a disconnected index\u00a0of tentative movements her nose is her new eyes\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 but she misjudges\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 jerks backwards at … Continue reading