content warning: death

It’s Mount Martha breeze,
fresh cut grass
and salty seas.

Wine glasses clinking—
sauv blanc spills over
into everyone singing

“Happy birthday to you”.

Sun slants low over the kidney shaped pool,
and with cake crumbs wiped
from empty plate edges,
you close your eyes.

A willie wagtail sits
on the edge of the birdbath
in its usual spot,
next to you
in yours.

“Grandad”...

The tug of a sleeve,
the wag of a tail,
but your nap under the wisteria
is the forever kind.

I’ve tucked this away
where a memory lay—
replaced hot tears and Betadine
with fresh cut grass,
and salty seas.

Willie wagtail
and you, asleep,
under the wisteria,
rustling,
in Mount Martha breeze.