The Poem of the Month for February 2023, selected by 2023 Anthology Editors, Maria Vouis and Rob Ferris, is The almanac of last things by Helen Parsons. The commended poems for February are What I Learned From Someone Else’s Grandmother by Helen Hutton, Evening Indulgence by Roslyn Schulz and Life Drawing 1 by Susan O’Brien.
The almanac of last things
Helen Parsons
After Linda Pastan’s poem of the same name
From the almanac of last things I choose fire,
for its warmth and for its fluctuations,
although I know it is both hearth and danger,
bearing its own shadow.
Of seasons I choose autumn, mother and daughter of fire,
for her complex clouds and her forgiving light,
and mid-winter for those severe grey skies
and for the froth of almond blossom on dark trees.
I choose the heron for the grace
of its wide wings and its slow flight,
and the swallow for that flash of midnight-blue
and for its flickering hunger-driven dance.
I’ll take a cup of coffee
to fortify me in the morning,
and a measure of brandy
to comfort me at close of day.
And at twilight I’ll walk the path along the cliffs,
the full dark ocean on my left,
the yellow fields on my right,
and in the air a mingling of sharp salt
and sweet dry grass.
Things I Learned from Someone Else’s Grandmother
Helen Hutton
How to make Scottish scones with a hint of lavender.
How to knit jumpers without dropping a stitch.
How to believe in ghosts and premonitions
but not tarot cards or Ouija boards — the devil’s playthings.
How to grow kale before it was a thing and teach
a green budgerigar to talk and the neighbour’s dog to sing.
Where to look in the sky to see the Southern Cross.
How to wear a tartan skirt because kilts are for men.
How to win at the pokies and know when to stop.
Where to catch the bus in the city after a night on the town.
How to refuse the advances of boys on the prowl.
When to tip a waiter and how to down a dram.
How to find peace in the Highlands by travelling alone.
When to phone reverse charges and when not to
and to understand why. When to silence the wind chime.
How to tell her I loved her when she spoke her mind.
How to live on without her when the stars called her home.
Evening Indulgence
Roslyn Schulz
(at Goolwa, looking over the sandhills)
Evening is the brooding time
when mists assemble and shadows crouch,
the weary body longing to be wrapped and still.
Through the window, the white sandhills
lend their comfort, their cupped breasts
damp and heavy with misty rain.
A single bush dwarfs the stunted growth around;
the green-grey leaves beckon, flurry
the mindless memory’s other world
that parades within me; the peaks jump out
and would be dealt with, before the dreary passage
across the barren space between.
I peer through the crazed glass of Day’s clutter,
and sip a glass of wine; thin tissues of rain
float on wind across the pane – are these tears real
that wander down the lines of my face?
I taste their saltiness unchecked, and watch
as night shuttles down into blackness.
Life Drawing 1
Susan O’Brien
Poses athletic, casual, contrived
eyes disengaged
Uncluttered by clothing
bodies trustingly exposed.
The cleft fruit of buttocks
Breasts side by side,
nipples catching the light
Tattoos and piercings
placed for private viewing
Stretch marks of weight loss
and childbearing.
Moist pleats under arms
behind knees
inside elbows
The back of the bowed neck
achingly vulnerable.
The spotlight is adjusted
another pose is struck –
Once again we all address
the smooth pale
buttonless
garment of nudity.