On a grey rainy day
a cuckoo comes
to a tree at my window.
At irregular intervals
it hammers among the fat drops
falling onto the flat tin roof.
Uncurling the sleeping cat from my lap
I walk out into the misty sky
to try and find the feathered form.
Given a choice
I would live forever in a day like this:
wet, grey, visited by birds
singing their intricate songs.
I would read stories of bicycle rides
and embroider the thoughts of a honey bee.
It takes me days
to wash off the nagging world,
rinsing and rinsing until
finally I find my own skin.
Though I just can’t seem to find
that bird that is hammering.
Allis Hamilton creates poetry, art and music. She scampers barefoot over rocks. Some of her poems live in the Australian Poetry Journal; Bimblebox 153 Birds – an Australian touring exhibition; Your Beautiful Names – an anthology responding to poems by asylum seekers by Mark Time books. She is a joint convener of PoetiCas – Castlemaine’s Poetry Readings.