At the window in my front room
I watched umbrellas go up the hill
struggling in furious autumn gale
most black, some red or comically transparent
pulled down upon a woman’s shoulders
to protect her new hairdo from the rain.

The Georgian bay window shielded me from rain.
I loved to be alone. That cold front room
with long net curtains wrapped around young shoulders
and the weather beating, shining or racing down the hill
was my castle; huge windows on a world transparent,
sheltered from the furious autumn gale.

Round I whirled, a leaf dancing in the gale,
moving faster and higher, inspired by the rain.
The net meant giant windows were transparent
only from the inside, so to a clunky sale room
gramophone weighted with pennies, I was me on that hill,
before the world could press upon my shoulders.

I smelled the musty net around my shoulders
and knew the world was old and furious, though its gale
and torrential outpouring never rested on our hill,
forming pools in parks where tourists pulled on rain-
coats and stirred coffee with plastic spoons, in a room
where an organ played and people’s smiles were transparent.

When my cousin came, we served homemade sweets on transparent
plates and put on a show. On young shoulders
responsibility for choreography and costume. Front room
filled with patient eyes, we would anxiously regale
our aunties, mums and Nanna with entertainment, rain
dancing in accord, outside, thunder clapping on the hill.

Of course, I grew up, and went out from the hill,
down into murky valleys, away from transparent
umbrellas, aunties and sticky sweets, out into rain
that seemed more inhospitable when it landed on shoulders
bent and bowed with the weight of life’s gale.
But part of me will always dance in that front room.

Meet me on the hill, put a scarf around my shoulders,
transparent rivulets in a furious autumn gale,
blessed by rain, with no umbrella, let us dance in my front room.

Waltz – 3/4 time

I’ve found a

rhythm which

helps me with


also en

hances the

vast world I

know and see:


I hold the

hands of my

friends and my


lifted by

music and

kind loving



We travel

one two three

through life’s di


dancing with

gusto through

fear and ad



Some of you

might like to

dance in my

footsteps the

waltz is such

fun and it’s




Make merry dance with me

step- ball- changing

until we lose our breath


light shimmying across morning eyes

put your feet to the floor for a pas de deux

all jazz hands and exuberance


Get on down to breakfast

rockin’ on bran flakes

turning around a cup of tea

toast post one two three

raisins to be cheerful you and me

contra bodies a crochety tango


Work those dancing miles with a steady beat

past back aching roundabouts

endless do-sa-do Pontiac Peugot surge n slow

waiting permitting pivot power and pass


Go with the flow

friendships comfortable as a hand on the waist

spinning through days and years

a conga of trauma and dilemma

altercation followed by locked step impasse

relative calm – a smooth foxtrot that never lasts


Let memory’s moonwalk gather us up

chassé back through good times

hilarious moments cha cha cha

others we danced with some we didn’t

waltzing towards the end

a final pelvic thrust

and no time to curtsy.