David Lander


Biology played with you and
threw you away unfinished.

You arrived and found nothing —
even your crayons did not obey.
The door had no handle, the lock no key.

You were expected to perform
but had nothing to perform with,
no language was known to you,
you had nothing to hear with,
you were an answer waiting to be noticed.

You were a searchlight
reaching for something to illuminate.

From the beginning your hands moved
but no-one heard them.

You could have been a shell
remembering the ocean or
bright paper waiting for a gift to wrap
or a dove on a chair with the sun and a cat and a smile and a trumpet
and a circus riding in on a cloud.
But you were not.

Now your objects startle.
Now your story weeps into the world.

David Lander has previously published in The Australian, The Age, Overland, Tirra Lirra and Australian Poetry. He has had careers in education and theater. He now lives with his partner in Hobart, Tasmania.
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