A father and son play ball by the bridge.
Did the shot go in?
A pigeon withers nearby.
Runners circle the track again.
Lavender blooms by the grand old church,
a piccolo latte served with sparkling water, then scrambled eggs with date chutney.
A mother guides her daughter,
who's holding a skateboard—
she's just like me.
I stand alone in the art gallery.
A woman asks if I can take her picture.
"I want to show my students back home," she says,
Picasso's colors framing her pose.
Resting at the foot of a mother tree,
on her roots, cradling me,
deep breaths drawing heaviness away,
peace releasing from my belly,
like a flower blooming slowly.
Monet's grass waves at me.
"We’re here."
Leaves crunch where a young man
dances with a carer—or his sister.
A tiny bird chirping around— he’s happy.
My teacher's voice guides softly,
"Two minutes, then it's time to go."
Under the protective arms of Albert Park,
I let go.
Music in background is my favourite artist of the moment - Hania Rani, ‘Luka’