My mother comes ...

My mother comes back to me

around food. I open the jam –

Davidson's plum – and hear her,

in my childhood, say another name

lingeringly: ‘Damson plums!’ 

I knew by her tone they were

rare and special, connecting us

to some kind of tradition, a treat 

for those occasional moments 

when we were a little bit rich.

And reconnecting herself

to her own childhood in England,

the calm properness of that.

Davidson’s plum, however, is wild

rainforest Australian, just like me.