Marilyn Humbert

On the banks of the Manning a sea eagle high in the conifer balances on a bare branch shreds and devours its writhing catch. Scales, bones, entrails. My hands deep in my pockets, not like early days of love when you

On a day like this dawn hauls herself upright pink fingers curling above the rim   on a day like this queuing for basics among empty shelves spilt frozen peas scrunch underfoot   on a day like this navigating the

Don’t go to the river mother whispers last days of harvest under the molten sun air is still, breathless waves of heat distort the view beneath boundary trees this drowsy afternoon my toes cooling in the trickle don’t go

I’m not a displaced person living in uncertainty marginalised and not heard. I have the right to vote freedom of speech hard-earned by my migrant ancestors. My children have married into other cultures chosen other religions blessing our family with