Fromelles – Joy Reid

I came to Fromelles. Not by intention –
strange cords
drew the sinews till they groaned, grew thin within me.
Signs warned:
Attentione…. They did not prevent
my impudence or forfend coincidences that led me here.
Gravity ensured
my unsuitable Peugeot slew through sticking mud,
that no man’s land made fertile by allies, by foes.
All mates now
made so by the razing communion the soil-enriching solution
of de com pos i tion ing.
The uniformed rep symbol of Home’s undying concern that one of our own
had fortuitously appeared
held reverent in hand
an unearthed relic a sacred half-host-shaped something he swum before eyes
both human and Reuter-sent.
I would have touched it to my lips
had I been allowed
the red-crusted scrap of bayonet rays rising-sun proof that a Southern Cross son
rested here.