(no subject)

[finluithiel]

word gifts for an australian critic
By Merlinda Bobis

i bring you words freshly
prised loose from my wishbone.
mahal, oyayi, halakhak, lungkot, alaala.
mate those lips,
then heave a wave in the throat
and lull the tip of the tongue
at the roof of the mouth.
mahal, mahal, mahal.
‘love, love, love’ – let me,
in my tongue.
then i’ll sing you a slumber tale.
oyaiiyaiiyaiiyayiiiii – once,
mother pushed the hammock
away – oyaiiyaiiyaiiyayiiiii,
the birthstrings severed from her wrist
when i married
an australian.
so now i can laugh with you.
halakhak! how strange.
your kookaburras roost in my windpipe
when i say, ‘laughter!’
as if feathering a new word.
halakhak-k-k-k-kookaburra!
but if suddenly you pucker
the lips – lung –
as if you were about to break
into tears or song – watch out,
the splinter cuts too far too much – lunggggggg –
unless withdrawn – kot –
in time. lungkot.
such is our word for sadness.
ah! for relief, release, wonder or peace
in any tongue, ‘ah!’
of the many timbres;
this is how remembering begins – ah! –
and is repeated – lah!-ah!-lah!
alaala. this is our word for memory.
how it forks
like a wishbone.
mahal, oyayi, halakhak, lungkot, alaala.
how they flow
east-west-east-west-east
in one bone wishing
it won’t break.