Hidden deep in childhood recesses are Karri trees.
Like fence posts for trolls
Mythical; deep dark woods
Tall timbers with pale multi coloured trunks,
Misty hollows, fringed by masters.
Standing giants like watchful elders
Branches over roads like arms.
Granddad told me stories.
Star crossed lovers Wooditch and Milyan
She promised to another.
Running away, secure under such boughs.
Wooditch threw a Karri branch to make a barrier.
A river was carved, right to the sea.
Karri forests offer up magical hues.
pink myrtle jostles with yellow hibbertia.
White cowslip, donkey orchids push their heads skywards.
Lichen mottles rocky surfaces, river water passes.
I long to brush my fingers across trunks of these majestic creatures.
Feel again tingles of sacred stories.
A virus closed border void inside me.
Few links to my childhood.
I am lost, my identity missing several dimensions.
At least this forest bears a new and correct name.
A token given back
renamed Wooditjup in honor of a magic river maker man.
And remembering local custodians.
Poem by Karen Lethlean
Karen Lethlean is a retired English teacher. With previous fiction in the Barbaric Yawp, Ken*Again, Pendulum Papers and has won a few awards through Australian and UK competitions. Land Lore is published in Bangalore Review, and last week Bleached Bones won Wild Words Solstice Short Story writing competition. Karen is currently working on a memoir titled Army Girl. About military service 1972-76. In her other life Karen is a triathlete who has done Hawaii Ironman championships twice.