The little painting I bought today,
from the bargain basket outside
the antique shop, isn’t labelled.
I’ll never know the artist's name, nor
the whereabouts of the place pictured.
I don’t even like landscapes, usually,
as much as abstracts. But it put me in mind
of Tasmania, where I grew up. Turned out
the woman behind the counter did too.
We reminisced long. Neither of us intends
to go back there to live; home is here now.
Nevertheless, we shared a nostalgia
only another Tasmanian would understand.
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