A wedged-tailed eagle circled in a cloudless sky
and sweat trickled down the groove in my spine
as we hiked in Chambers Gully,
Jess splendid as the plumes on a lyrebird
in her tailored white shirt, designer stretch jeans,
a new Akubra hat tilted just so.

I silently counted koalas in the gum trees—
one juvenile snoozed in the fork of a stringy bark—
as Jess spoke about her daughter Annabel,
a little girl with coltish legs,
auburn hair springy as a polo stick,
now a lawyer with a Sydney firm.

She called last night, said she’s pregnant.

I flapped at a pesky fly
and gave a smile so glassy it tinkled.

How wonderful for you,

wiped my brow with the back of my hand
and when Jess asked, what have you been up to?
told her about the pine tree I had cut down,
the quirky poem I was grappling with,
the fifty pounds my niece had lost
with the help of a hypnotherapist.

I didn’t talk about my daughter,
even though she lives with me,
even though she’s the first person I think of when I wake
and the last person I talk to at night,
even though she accompanies us on all our treks,

didn’t talk about her when a red-bellied black snake
slithered across the track and I remembered my girl, long ago
taking off like the cartoon road runner
after someone had yelled SNAKE!

didn’t talk about her when a kookaburra laughed
and the raucous sound made me think of the cackle
she adopted as a teenager
or when we reached the top of the hill
and spotted a mob of kangaroos. I almost spoke her name,

a name I once loved dearly but now seldom uttered, Catherine,
see the joey peeping from its mother’s pouch?

Suddenly we heard a shrill call and my mind flew back
to O’Reilly’s Resort. My mother, my daughter and I,
had lunched on cheese and pickle sandwiches,
fed rainbow lorikeets perched on our outstretched arms
and strolled through the rain forest.
Catherine, a bubbly twelve-year old, had skipped ahead,
shouting cooooooeeeee.
Mum had pursed her thin lips and mimicked
her granddaughter with a little less oomph but just as much joy.

Jess and I bounded down the hill and my daughter’s voice rang
through the trees, danced on the branches, twirled in the wind.
I turned to my old friend. I’m thinking of a holiday with Catherine.
She squeezed my hand and beamed and said, please tell me about it.