River Red Gum

The straight grain of the river red gum

Splits clean under my blow

The scent of those years on the waters edge

Hits me as I raise my head.

The grubs that lie buried in their little holes

Fall free for the chooks to eat

The stock of big rounds ready to burn

As a pile of red firewood.

Until a log with its twisted wood

A gnarled up branch jutting out

This one grabs my axe and holds,

Won't let go, won't release.

The trace of years of hardship worn

With grace and stunted love

Pressed tight into a wound up knot

That won't budge on first try.

I turn the axe over to hit it clear

And strike again. The truths.

They slowly come apart, it seems

Under the power of the blows.

And we are left with the wood

To burn bright through the night

The hard won truths

Shards and splinters on the floor.