Auntie Effie's Gift
She'd done the painting -
I had to thank her,
and take it with me
home to Australia.
But truly, it was a botch -
which was all I'd expected.
What was my favourite
Auckland view? I'd told her -
Judges Bay, the tide in,
St Stephen's white Chapel
on the sloping turf
with its settlers' graves.
There they are, the lot.
And a skyline of trees
vague, indeterminate,
though doubtless pioneer.
But her art! her skills!
conspicuous by their
total absence!
She wrapped it -
Uncle Albert had
already framed it -
away we went.
Decades it sat
in the darkest corner
of several successive
Melbourne addresses,
this latest surely its last.
Downsizing requires
we part, her daub and me.
Yet - bin it? too cruel.
Leave at a charity shop?
Most likely they'd bin it.
Is there a shredder might take it?
Burning would be the thing,
if bonfires were still permitted.
Effie herself I last saw
in a hospital bed
near death from cancer.
I held her painting hand, said
I'd speak at her funeral -
a promise I broke.
Albert went soon after.
Her paintings? gone.
That view is still a favourite -
Judges Bay, the tide in,
St Stephen's wooden Chapel,
sloping turf, old graves.
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