Geometry

A childhood memory, recalled on the death of my grandfather

Face down in corrugations
I watch the sand grains resonate
with Granddad’s beat up ute,
resolving geometric moments
out of chaos.

The sand dies with the engine.

I sit up to see red dirt
and eucalypts and
Granddad
“You done laz’n ‘round back here?”
and a white ant nest.
Our target. Two-foot tall dome
of sand and termite spit,
intergenerational insect collaboration.
Pre-packaged termites
for Granddad’s breeding finches.

I pass Granddad the picks and shovels,
watch as he digs
unspoken, except in gruff instruction.
I swing the pick hard, to prove
I’m a good worker.
But the nest is tough as sandstone
and my aim is ‘worse than lightning’
“Can’t you hit the same place twice?”
I prefer the silence.

Job done and no words spent
on cheap congratulations.
Instead, a single pebble from his pocket.
Quartz. Polished
white and bright and smooth
against his work stained hand.
“Found it here a while ago,
the only rock for miles.
Thought you might start collecting.”

The pebble fits perfectly in my palm,
still heavy with his warmth,
a geometric moment
caught in stone.