Winnaitch by Matt Duggan

Follow my eye said the young boy

see where the cloud hangs like a floating noose,

above the spare and dirty cold waves

that is where Rottnest Island stands!

 

Hoarding bones of our elders

where rich sun seekers now lay unknowingly

on the foundations of unmarked graves.

Bronze footsteps stood above our ghosts on straw beds

a hessian fence broken with the dried flesh of quokka

knots of wire with red clothe; Tanned and fresh tourists

seeking rites of passage where our ancestors were imprisoned,

 

Starved

                              Hung               Banished

 

This is the island of spirit

people Winnaitch – The Forbidden Isle!

Now close your eyes said the young boy

as you may hear the manacles of my forefathers,

No number sixteen on that island

 

one for executioner and six for the noose.

 

1 Winnaitch – Is Aboriginal for A Forbidden Place.

 


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