I went walkabout
and you died.

I was on the other side of the world.

I cried my tears into the ocean.
Ached with grief
as I swam in crystal-blue water
and marvelled at the beauty
of the Barrier Reef.

I set a place for you
at the table that evening,
and talked to you
as if you were there with me.

You were there with me.

You rediscovered your wings
and rode on the wind
to join me
in that red and gold land
of songlines and spirits.

Your soul-self
lighter than a feather.

Our mother-daughter differences
effaced in the blink of an eye.

As I walked in the
footprints of the ancestors,
you followed me.

Whispered in my ear
as I sat saddened on the beach.

Your freedom was my consolation.

I went walkabout
and you died.

You and I planned it that way,
I guess.

Copyright © 2010 Annette Gartland