Competition

Second Prize

Family Snapshot
by Julie Lynch

weekdaysweareweetbixandorangejuice lastminu teironinguni formsmusicpractice crumpledpermissionslipsmallchangemarshalledfromlintypocketcornersDadsslushfundbundlingintocarsw earefo rgo ttens portsha tsw eatypalmsmo recoi nson thedash boardmobil ephoneringtones________howasyourdayhomeworkdramagooglesearchchartpaperthatkeepsrollingup readinginbedluvya

saturdays we are froot loops coco pops nutella tablespooned straight into mouths don't
tell mum things go better with sprite shinpads puma boots red frogs at halftime grass-
burnt knees water bottles slopped-on sunscreen crayfish dangling on short lengths of
fishing line mosquito sunsets out of tune singing curly mischief if I have to come in there duck washes fast food what's on tv goodnight

Sundays we are visitors respectful buttoned shirts with collars roast dinner steamy syrup pudding lived-in friendships backyard cricket with a balding green tennis ball blunting secateurs rose thorns on noses-you thorny devil car polish smells raking crackly leaves look a ladybird on this one blow drying the guinea pig fish tank slime pikelets and Milo snoozing by the fire

Holidays we are sleep-ins, all-day pyjamas, spinach and tomato seeds pressed into damp earth, grinning cousins snapping silly photographs, spilt popcorn at the movies, saggy tents, musty sleeping bags, towels drooping on a wire fence, is chicanery a suitable scrabble word ? gathered around the communal campfire's warmth sharing memories children cuddled asleep on laps

                                II

The youngest says "tonpoon" for "pontoon" and sits as still as stone under the
clothesline birdseed hands outstretched for the apostle birds which gather cautiously
in the branches of the flowering Poinciana
He finds "oiseau' a funny other word for "bird"
He delights in the caged one that whistles "Jingle Bells" and gives him high fives
His laughter is a giant bubble bursting, kaleidoscopic snow-flakes, confettiing us
His body is shimmer and glisten, effervescence and tumble
Struggling little speller gripping the pencil stiffly
Ideas cascading, zipping randomly, evading
form and shape like fireworks
Beautiful little wriggler

The middle one wants to live in a hut with his blue dog and ute and second-hand lounge
Beside a dam that looks like a lake with a grassy island for wild ducks and a tonpoon
n it for him and his brother to use
He wants to foster children but not to marry
His mind is Lake Isle and haven, gossamer and dewy leaves
Patting his friend on the shoulder when schoolyard injustices sting wasp-like
Always searching, hoping, thoughtful
Quiescent young chrysalis

The eldest is researching surrogacy, wants to own a modem three-storey house nestled
into a hill-side and use the top level as her studio.
Insatiable lover (this week) of Dubosarsky, Lawrence and Mercutio
Her heart is passion and wilderness, rose and candle.
Watering her round garden while the freesia bulbs yawn beneath brown clods
At once dexterous, impulsive, determined
Graceful new butterfly

                                III

I can imagine a life without them

I could have broken through the Glass Ceiling, red suit, high heels,
long nails, portfolio, networking, Ms Senior Executive 2006
all degrees and expertise, itineraries and boardroom lunches.

I would have been fulfilled in many ways
I would have been satisfied
Or I could have devoted my life to helping the helpless, a selfless soul,
prayerful, embracing the sick, Mother Teresa from Land's End .
all kindness and compassion, humility and servitude.

It would have done
I could have endured it

Perhaps I could have lived a Bohemian life beside a mountain stream -how utterly
romantic! studying the Classics and Renaissance poetry, eating beans and wholegrain,
with my hairy legs and armpits, my angst and deep inward eye

It would have been tolerable
A sort of existence

A life without them

Yes I can imagine

                                IV

Remember yesterday when you were born,
Our first-born a little early
Your shock reflex as raw as a whisper
The softness of your brown mouse hair
and the haematoma like a beetroot-half
Clinging to your skull, your urgent nuzzling at my breast
The doctor suggesting you might be a nun
because of your tiny prayer-hands.
Ah! But of course you don't remember

Remember today when you needed the bike pump
From the top of our antique cedar wardrobe
The carved one with the pelmet which held the doors in place.
You climbed up onto the closest bed knob and leaned over
letting your body fall forward at that precarious angle
which relied on the fixtures to hold you but
Reaching, balance lost, you grabbed at the pelmet
and brought the lot down
Three doors crashing hard, deep dents in the polished floor
You cowering underneath, unhurt
And when I chose to laugh and you laughed too,
The doors spilt off you like angular airy ice sheets
dancing and melting away

How could I be angry?
Ah! I hope you remember

Remember tomorrow when you won't let me kiss you in public
but miss it if, hurrying, I forget, as you avalanche around the house
and down the stairs, yelling "Bye!"
When some bruises won't show
You'll be taller than me and quicker,
You'll know and do and be other than me
Ah! But I won't remember