Lake Mungo
By Susan Fealy
He wants to take her
where birds grew legs
long as rodeos,
and a reimagined giant
wombat tends to disappoint.
He wants to drive her to a desert
where they ghosted her in ochre,
buried her, standing upright
by a milky singing lake.
He wants to walk with her
along a curve of shattered moon,
where human memory
unmade her long ago.
He wants to wake
where sand blows yesterday
from her face —
where there is nothing
but the terror of his faith.
Notes:
This poem originally appeared in Westerly.