Considering the life choices of Cousin Georgiana
To understand her, you need to understand
the strangler fig.
It begins when she finds herself
nestled in the arms of a handsome man,
or a kind man, or some
kind of man who holds
still long enough for her to settle. Such a
small, insignificant weight!
Under his gaze
she flourishes. Soaks up all the sun he lets
spill her way, shows gratitude in lingering
glances, touch, sends delicate silken roots down.
Stronger. Surer.
Still wrapped around him, even
when he entertains other creatures—she knows
that all such entanglements—
the fluttering
of a dove’s wing, a high snatch of song, a brief,
iridescent carapace, caught glittering
in the corner of their bedroom—she knows such
flimsy affairs will be no threat.
She has found
her footing now. She clothes him in virtue, holds
him bole-firm against tremors of doubt. Glossy
leaves hush him, comfort him, angle their sharp tips
into whatever rain falls there.
He has grown
settled, has grown complacent and fat. She hosts
clients for dinner, has coffee with their wives.
Anchors him
when the storms come, wracking him, leaf
and bough, heartwood and taproot. She
takes his life
as her life’s purpose—buttress, fortress, lattice
of lignin and leaving. Who knows anymore
when he disappeared?
A stealthy decay, years
or moments. The shape of him set in her pith—
a cathedral, maculate, filling with light.
Joanna Preston is a Tasmanaut poet, editor, and creative writing tutor, who lives in semi-rural Canterbury with her Very Understanding Husband and a flock of much-loved chooks. Her third poetry collection is ‘nearing completion.’ Allegedly.