Looking through my poetry folder for something else, I found this, almost forgotten, poem from my short stay on the Sunshine Coast of Queensland last year. We were making paper out of native peach, among other plants.
through a window
this land looks
The human eye
on the familiar
of European settlers to give
Northern names to native plants.
But a native peach
is not a peach,
bearing tiny hard bitter berries
so I close my eyes
and let my ears open
to the kookaburra’s manic cackle
and my nose open
to the scent of lemon eucalypt.