by Janine Phillips
You breathed a breath of life
into me
with your first wail.
Cocooned within the muted tones
of a beige birthing room,
third push and boom!
you screeched your way into my world.
Not a pink kind of girl,
dressed in yellow.
You were a burst of sunshine
splashed into my darkest corners.
We’d collect stones and shells
and sun rays on Cedar Beach,
burying our feet in the sand
between lunch and nap time.
On Mother’s Day,
I marched with a million other moms
in D.C., to protect our babies’ lives.
On Independence Day,
I climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge
in a last ditch effort to save my own.
Cupping your face at five
—look into my eyes—
we breathed and blew away our anxieties.
You carried the weight of my world
in your Sagittarius heart.
Together, we collected survival skills
like shells and stones at Cedar Beach.
No time for affairs of the heart
with textbooks in one hand,
pom poms in the other,
you were an undiscovered force
the size of Palestine.
Brave and fearless
always destined to be a flier,
you collected life experiences
and honed them into survival skills.
Injustice your foe,
you searched the world
for your niche.
A nice country to welcome
your rage;
a place where you could face your fears
to prove you needed no one to survive.
Standing strong beside
an oak tree of a man,
you heal your heart
in a second-story apartment.
Pot-bellied stove warms your toes
on a rainy afternoon
spent marching against injustice
as you protest
the chains of oppression.
Cedar Beach lies a quarter century away,
a forgotten dream
as far from here as South Africa or Viet Nam.
As distant as South Korea and Japan.
As elusive and unforgotten as my Australia.
Last night we zoomed into enemy territory
battlefronts apart,
and shared survival skills
with the very demons
we travelled the world to escape.
And as you count, 4×4, snapping your fingers
your memory is etched forever in my mind.
Now, in the early morning hours after
the subterfuge of battle,
the weight of the world
suffocates me
while the sun tosses and turns
getting ready to rise
over this sleep-filled Mohawk Valley.
Lying in the darkness
kicking memories to the foot of the bed,
I inhale for a count of four.
Hold for a count of four.
Exhale for a count of four.
Rest for a count of four.
Armed with stones and shells,
a force the size of Palestine,
not a pink kind of girl.
With your formidable Sagittarius heart,
once again you breathe your breath of life
into me.
Janine Phillips
March 12, 2024
Janina Grey 