Legend Of Glasshouse Mountains

Tibrogargan broods uneasily, looks out
to sea from furrowed brows, his flanks
a shroud of bitter angst - sorely bound
by tribal law; behind his naked calloused
back Beerwah cries with saddened eyes
that leak and track the plains in silver
streams. Coonowrin, the errant son, stares
through tears and crooked neck,
wondering what might have been.

The blow that bent his graceful neck was
tribal law dispensed in vain, more painful
to the father than the errant one, and through
the years his fate remains a deep regret,
a silenced conscience screams the lore is
wrong, forgive, forget. Bring back the life
we lived before the floods inflamed this
sadly maddened state, redress the pain.
Tibrogargan stays the same, unable to relent.

Coonowrin calls to twins, Tunbubudla,
Miketeebumulgrai – don’t look at me,
I am ashamed. Forgive me if you can.
I would have helped her had I known.
Elimbah, his sister, shoulders bent from
many cares sheds endless tears; the one
called Round – so fat and small and
the one named Wild Horse who strayed
while others played all look away.

I stand here next to Beerwah, hear her
thoughts. Climb to the sky she thinks,
climb me and free us from misery. Talk to
the spirits and say it is time for change, ask
them to please let him forgive Coonowrin,
forgive him, and give me back my children.
© I.D. Carswell 2006