Featured in
- Published 20250204
- ISBN: 978-1-923213-04-3
- Extent: 196 pp
- Paperback, ebook. PDF
yes, one day, finally, it will all fall away
like all dead things
we will sit again by the campfire
story illuminating the fall of empire
one day
again
we will choose enough
lean away from more
pull our hands from its heat
lean
wandunban nguliindu
always
into the earth
quickening its molten heart
we will draw from there
unflinching
our song
carry it
on feathered feet
to deepest country
cast it toward the shore
one day again
mudhunda
you will thrum
and our song
will bear witness
wandhandja wandhanja mardin-yimba
blak witness of all time
One day one day one day.
*******
wandunban nguliindu– our customary/spiritual way of being
mudhunda – the name I have given to so called Australia, meaning the song Country
wandhanja wandhanja – everywhen
mardin – the people
yiimba – hear listen and think
‘One day one day one day.’ – With permission from A Language of Limbs by Dylin Hardcastle
Share article
About the author
Cheryl Leavy
Cheryl Leavy writes non-fiction, poetry and children’s literature. Her first children’s book, Yanga Mother, was published by UQP in 2024. She has been awarded...
More from this edition
Shelf life
Non-fictionEarly in his career, Charles Dickens notably underestimated the reputational risk of library-shelf browsing when he invited the critic George Henry Lewes home for tea. Over steaming cups, Lewes eyed naff triple-decker novels and bland travel books, ‘all obviously the presentation copies from authors and publishers’. He recalled the experience in a waspish elegy published shortly after Dickens’ death: ‘A man’s library expresses much of his hidden life, I did not expect to find a bookworm, nor even a student, in the marvellous “Boz” but nevertheless this collection of books was a shock.’
Bellend
Poetry ‘Nice little bell, buddy,’ snipes some guy holding space in the bike lane as I nearly swipe him on my way to the shops. Low and...
Load
FictionWhen I wake up from being a dishwasher, curled on the floor of my apartment, it’s like I have woken from the perfect slumber. I don’t think I have felt like this since the womb. Imagine being able to temporarily kill yourself. The world, the body, weighs heavy. Being a dishwasher is the closest I have ever felt to bliss. Before this, the closest I got to bliss, true bliss, was getting high with my dad and eating a cream corn and cheddar toastie at the Murchison Tea Rooms.
