Sestina after a Royal Commission
‘Goodbye,’ said the witness to the remains
of the structure floating out with the tide.
Before her, she held the flotsam of a window
scavenged from the wreck of a life-saving club.
‘Look,’ said the window, ‘Dogs’ tails
stiff with sand are measuring the distance
from the crime.’ ‘You think there’s a distance?’
asked the shore. ‘This torpor must not remain,’
said reports of the wreck, ‘We’ve collected tales
of the days they tossed evidence to the tide
and drank to children’s silence in their club.
Have you looked in through their window?’
She answered, ‘This wreckage is their window,’
as she held up the panes, to peer into a distance
that meant nothing was the same in a club
she couldn’t join. She tipped the remains
of her trust right onto the sand. High tide
sent an inrush, over the buried tale
of her faith. The shore said, ‘Those sandy tails
weren’t meant as metaphors for criminals, but a window
to the joy that might have been. The tides
invite dogs to bounce into the brine, at a distance
from human trouble.’ The witness remained.
The window said, ‘You need to find a club
that is your own. See the dogs’ club.
See how they fall together. See how their tails
tell a story of the moment.’ ‘What remains,’
said the witness, ‘is this scavenged window
on the human record that is broken at a distance
from the act. I see it in the call of the tide.’
‘Witness, there is no answer,’ said high tide
to the woman who had given up on the club
and its life-saving claims. At a distance –
though she could not keep a distance – the tales
repeated. She had to hear them. The window
said, ‘This is the only trust that remains:
to hear the distance is no distance, from the tide
of the crimes that need redress.’ ‘What new club
will answer to these tales?’ she asked the window.
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