The Ultimate Swansong

the children of convicts

are angels born with orphaned wings.

not even on her deathbed did ned kelly

hear his sea-nymph mother sing.

-

black ships sailed over her iris

in silence, drowning out the chorus

of lungs sinking in wrist-bound seas

of captivity. he said he saw bunyips perish

-

without so much as a hiss, that only yowies lips move

with the melodies of death. walking on a weak-beating wing,

he hummed snatches of lines and odes and then,

as the bell struck ten, on the metal floor of the gallows,

-

he uttered a quiet swansong, such is life.

Stevi-Lee Alver is an Australian writer and tattoo artist. She lives in the middle of Brazil with her wife. She loves bush walks and waterfalls but misses the ocean.

This poem is part of the drains of her mind collection.