THE CHIMES (Stefanile)

The chimes on my verandah sway…

My chimes are temple bells today, and I
might be an acolyte perhaps – and not
a housewife in a country town. I fly

from ripening canola and the hot
dry wind that steals the girlhood from my skin;
I fly from never-ending chores – begin
to glide on marble floors, through corridors
whose arches let me glimpse a white dovecot
surrounded on three sides by lawns, a grot
with ferns and water spout… and then I pause;
imagination fails and lawns become

the grass around my home – the bells are chimes,
the water spout a dripping tap. Humdrum
but mine! I can be such a goose at times.

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