LEGACY
My mother was given some marron –
unfortunately edible crustaceans –
swimming in a plastic bag, claws grasping;
throw them alive in boiling water.
Lacking the neighbours’ prey drive,
she led instead a revolt
and set the victims free in a creek.
Mum is no longer here to see them
but the marrons’ descendants are still there,
living their lives as she hoped they would.
HERON
Hunched inside her shabby cloak,
a lifeless tree with feathers and gleaming eyes
watching the unsuspecting world drift past,
a grey guardian of immobility;
prophecies from migrating or screeching birds
learn nothing from her stillness.
She strikes, unfolding a snaking neck
to stab with flashing beakspear,
shattering time’s tranquil mirror
before retreating to her stasis.
Published in Causeway
S.C. Flynn 