David Prater (Australia): Two Poems


he was the star that floated in water, lacking
            space (& she was an astronomer in hawaii, or in
lower case (she’s the satellite’s document of a
            dreamy eclipse (he’s like a word once lost, now
formed by her lips (when she says goodbye – oh!
            that word & all the stars go out (& it gets dark:
he drives through the night with just a radio &
            his doubt (the elegant simplicity of life & her,
of their separation (caused snows from november
            to fall across the nation (never does, we never
knew that the stars could dream (the reflection
            we’ll never see; the white flakes’ mist a panic
beam (that lonely message across a face we call
            the skies (cry or close your eyes

                                                         (i am a child


He was a jealous husband without a wife.
            I needed security and he gave me bullets
to rain down upon those discreet affairs
            (which came, and passed. We settled in
to our familiar routine: me with my cats
            and he out stalking prey. At night he’d
return with greenbacks in his ochre eye,
            demanding fidelity, abstract truth and an
Amerikan way of life. I don’t understand
            how it came to this. I trusted him with
my life savings. He didn’t believe in ‘me’.
            I see it now (with the clarity of sight
denied the blind. I sign divorce papers.
            Mistrust could not

                                                (a coalition make.

c. David Prater 2007