by Elizabeth Trew
All carefully kept on the sisters’ dairy farm:
two giant eucalypts – beloved and long dead
stand by the old house, now a Bed and Breakfast.
I arrive at dusk. Bees are busy
making honey inside a dead trunk,
Kei apples have fallen, lie under their trees,
guineafowl have flown into the pines to sleep
while calves in the herd gambol in the field.
All so very beautiful, one sister says to me
as she takes me through the house
of many ageing things all kept with care.
An old white wedding dress
hangs inside my room. I open a tin of hairpins
belonging to the bride.
I lie awake and feel the wind-mill turn and creak,
the bone-white trees and wedding dress
loom inside the night.
Between the living and the dead loveliness is there.