It’s been a long time
since I heard the word Ringarooma,
but somebody posted a photo today
and huge nostalgia caught me
for all the small towns and villages
of my Tasmanian childhood,
and for the fathers, birth and step,
who both took us driving –
me and my little brother –
on roads and lanes, coast to coast,
crossing the tiny island,
and all through the middle too.
‘You can’t go back home again’? No –
and also you never really leave.
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