Julia Vaughan

Wind in my head
Throwing branches
Battering my eyes
Erratically roaring

Storm in my head
Turning everything
Grey
Black Dog’s calling

Cyclone in my head
Vision’s blurring
Noises, vivid,
Bouncing black arrows
Everything’s swirling…

Tree’s still standing, tall
Leaves rustled
Trunk robust.
Intact. Solid. Distinct.

Black Dog will. Not. Win.

Mondays were wash days
How did that tradition start?

Rituals and old wives’ tales
Pulling the diagonal corners
Stretching the cotton
Pegs colour match clothes

Living in Zimbabwe
Ironing. Ironing pillowcases and sheets
Ironing. Ironing cotton underpants, towels and shirts
Hang all nylons inside
Anything that can’t be ironed
Dries inside, away from the flies.

Flies lay their eggs in bulky, wet seams
Eggs that later burrow into skin
To grow into maggots.

Putzis. The dreaded diagnosis.

Always around underpants elastic
Or t-shirts’ armpits and necklines
Still damp, bulky seams ideal for hatching.
Only ironing everything will kill the eggs.

Putzis. Big red lumps grow.

Slather Vaseline on the head
Suffocate the maggot!
Squeeze. Squeeze, squeeze out the larvae
So embarrassing to have your Mum

Squeezing putzis from your bum!

(*** Putzis is pronounced Put-seas. A parasitic blowfly.)

(Acknowledging Beyond Blue.)

If you’re blue, go green.
Flee the black dog
Into the garden – go.
Plant for tomorrow.

Flee the black dog.
Seeds. Cuttings. Multiplying bulbs.
Plant for tomorrow.
Dream of trees you’ll never sit under.

Seeds. Cuttings. Multiplying bulbs.
Flowers. Colour. Bees. Butterflies!
Dream of trees you’ll never sit under.
Tranquil, cool shade.

Flowers. Colour. Bees. Butterflies!
Veggies to talk about and share.
Tranquil, cool shade.
Dirty hands. Happy worms. Finding joy.

Veggies to talk about and share.
Bright sunlight. Dappled shade.
Dirty hands. Happy worms. Finding joy.
Watching, nurturing, things grow.

Bright sunlight. Dappled shade.
Into the garden – go.
Watching, nurturing, things grow.
If you’re blue, go green.