by Meredith Pitt

---

and we walked to the edge of the lake
where we had thrown our worlds one November
and the ducks had scooped them
as weed and the tide had taken the rest
under the bridge. Today the lake takes
the crumbled insulation that dusts
his lungs and carries in
the appetite that stalled
last March.

Paddling circles, the ducks meet him
each time he visits, ignoring his slow progress
along the shore as he takes his withered plans
and his years of watching the bulbs
push their way to another winter. Dad carries
a paper with him so he can pretend
to read when he settles on the next
bench to catch the sun on his back
and talk to Mum, or the ducks.

There are days when all that is left
is to labour in the stillness
between each breath and listen
to the koel’s squeaky saw song
that keeps company with his afternoon
kip. But today the lake leads him
back to his feet and the breath
that stops him reaching any further. Days
like this, we walk in silence.


after Dean Young

---

Meredith Pitt is a Blue Mountains based poet. She is largely self-taught and remembers often sneaking off to read the poetry section in the Childcraft books in her primary school library. Meredith was recently published in Not Very Quiet Vols 3 and 4 and was awarded the Verandah Literary Award 2018.