A new poem by Yvette Thomas.

FAREWELL

To my father, mercy-killed with morphine—

when his eyes closed for the last time

I couldn’t tell if he was scared or grateful.

To my mother, still beautiful at sixty—

she high-tailed it on the next plane to Queensland.

I hope her new man treats her like a monarch.

To my sister, craving peace from bells and meditation.

She typed in ‘where to find a spiritual master?’

and wound up at an ashram in Karnataka.

To my twin—nine months of bliss inside our mother,

but he could not take his first breath.

Now I breathe for both of us.

To a seedling wilting in exhausted soil,

to the sun drifting behind rainclouds,

to a man who said he loved me but disappeared.

I even say farewell to a little mouse

when the trap snaps shut behind the curtain.

To a line of ants marching towards the poison.

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