Gavin Austin

Resolute

trailing cloud
the flattened barley
in a field of mud

“Looks so different to when I was young,” Aunt Joan says, with a wan smile.

I raise my collar against the wind and hunch my shoulders. The tiny country town seems like many others as I look down its main street. The usual butcher, baker, and dry cleaner shopfront windows gleam in winter sunlight.

A row of palms, like sentinels, divide the bitumen road. On the central strip is the icon of many small towns: the statue of a soldier.

We cross to the lawned plot in front of the monument. Verdigris trails where fingers place flowers in April and November. I look up at the granite soldier, unable to hold his stare.

Joan reaches with an unsure hand, her forefinger slides down the engraved list of names and suddenly stops. I hear her sharp intake of breath.

promises
whispering in fronds
time unsilenced

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About the Author

Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. Gavin writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.