On Christmas with KBR's Sheryl Gwyther

Sheryl with her younger sister, Meryl,
and their Christmas dolls

You couldn’t imagine anywhere less like a Northern Hemisphere Christmas experience than Innisfail in Queensland’s far north – sticky humidity, lake-like puddles in the backyard from yet another tropical downpour; watermelon feasts, mozzies, cane toads and rotting mangoes on the ground.

Dad always brought home a big, scented gum-tree branch from the bush and we’d decorate it with tinsel and fragile, shiny baubles. I’d creep out to the lounge and marvel at the pile of presents, looking for a book-shape parcel. The year of the Malvern Star bicycle was the best Christmas ever!

Here’s a little poem I wrote about one Christmas memory.

TRAPPED IN MIDNIGHT-BLUE

She cuts, pins, adjusts, trims,

we stand in turn on kitchen stool

sisters in revolt, while she,

pins in mouth,

hisses

keep still for heaven’s sake.

Intricate papery patterns float

like sheets of dried brown skin,

tattooed

with mysterious codes

bodice nape hem-stitch baste,

as skilled hands conjure garments

from

cheap cotton

muslin

seer-sucker

crepe.

One year, I stand high above the kitchen floor, swirling,

enchanted, trapped in midnight-blue,

tiny red silk rosebuds sprouting,

full-skirted organza party dress.

Delight cuts to DESPAIR –

This dress is destined for my cousin, clever, bossy,

sure in adult-speak world.

I’m just a mannequin for fit, cut and pin.

Pins take revenge.

I whinge and squirm.

The kitchen – a battleground of female wills.

How I HATE THAT DRESS!

Intriguing shapes under tinselled branch,

bright package torn open

reveals

Midnight-blue with red silk rosebuds, and a card

With love from Mum xxx

© Sheryl Gwyther 2010