I thought a lot about the maze of rooftops –
the slopes and gussets and gutters.
Not everyone knew the place that way.
The groan of lilac was loud in spring –
a beauty of excess – corrugated iron
scattered with petals, roof corners piled
purple deep, the dedication of honey-
eaters I watched skim silver to their nests.
Around dusk, the floodlights at Albion Park
flickered to life, reflections pooling wet
on the low flat roof beside the trellis,
the scent of jasmine wafting up, and
I tried not to dwell on the warmth
of home – where you were – of lights
in places I couldn’t see, listened instead
as the river breathed deep to a dark
beat, to the silence of stained glass
after sun. I’d prop against the timber
casing when a leaden sky edged menacing
green, wait for the battering of rain
on glass, for water to glug through roof
canals so I’d sleep – imagine other rivers,
other storms. So being there was
softened by a kind of abstraction.
Jane Frank’s first chapbook was titled Milky Way of Words (Ginninderra Press 2016). A collaborative work – Flotsam – is forthcoming with Flarestack, UK. Most recently, Jane’s poems have appeared in Popshot, Pressure Gauge, Takahē and The Poets’ Republic, and anthologised in Automatic Pilot (2018), The Heroines Anthology (Neo Perennial Press 2018) and Dragons of the Prime (The Emma Press 2018).