in the bending river.

in the bending river I see her

head lowered

so mother could wash her hair

from a cold bucket

tin shed for shade

out on the boat from England

to a red paradise

she would hide

in the long grass

tricking her sister

ants biting like a shot

in scant places to hide

running pink skinned and semi-clad

between the workers huts

where the blokes ate bully beef

sipping ale till morn

then standing up to labour

crack of dawn
she rising with a big sun
golden fingers in her hair
promise of grand things

river bending beneath them

a curve in the land 
beyond understanding

she digs between the weeds
hoping to find wonder
but the river does not lie
flowing ever onward

to bend upon bend
meeting a man in a band
dancing hand in hand
then horizontal 
in the back of his car
bending over to come so far
marriage a shotgun conclusion
then having children of her own

a bending river teaching her

how to dip and sway

through the midway

where dreams die and we grow

accustomed to comfort

until death is done with this

and we meet our end
bending again to some winding river 
so that she knows where it all began

© shaun patrick green 2019