Poetry: “Banyan Nights” by Lara Dolphin

Burgettstown bred, I sit on steel atop a

Bouganville Ficus close to Bagana near the

Torokina River directing artillery fire by radio.

Nearby flares rain down on Hill 260.

The Southern Cross appears, and the

infantry slips behind concertina wire. Saint

Barbara, bless these powdered eggs and

dehydrated potatoes, guide our ordnance

and steady our field glasses that we may

observe what has to/gets to be.

Advertisements