She was resilient in a restless way
She run away from madness and filth
to blissful down bottom – a house by the bay
but kept returning to the madness and ‘kith’
It is clear that was her true North, though faraway
The smile on her face suggested she missed Canberra
A brief, far-away look, the tears barely suppressed
the mask of a random brave smile defying the mascara
We sipped coffee, she trying not to appear stressed
but it was clear her thoughts were tuned to another era.
She pointed at a man in the far end
of the coffee house, looked at me
and said ‘Bill over there was my boyfriend
He is 76 now, I think, seven years older than me
We drifted apart when our wounds refused to mend’
Then she took off on a tangent
to talk about her children – now all grown
and living their lives somewhere in the orient
With pensive bravery she said “since they’ve been gone
“I haven’t talked to them for 15 years and won’t again!”
As we stood up to go our ways
She looked at me and beyond
The thing in the watery depth of her eyes
stood still; she struggled to suppress a yawn,
as she said: “Kap, I am an editor, sad that I cannot edit my life.”
A week later, she died – of cancer.
She was my editor
A warrior not a worrier
Neither worried if the earth did not spin
Nor cared about the finer details of sin.
