You can never understand me – Nean Curry

You can never understand me
You don’t understand me,
I could tell you a million times
About Cyclone Tracy Christmas Eve 74,
But you were not there…
If you look at Darwin that morning,
The debris is all that is in me,
It is me.
And I have been trying since that day
Crawling through it,
Climbing over it
Sitting in it,
Just to find me.
And I never find me…
I am the twisted tin, like Christmas tinsel
Hanging from the skeletal tree.
I am the tears we shed
I am the rain that fell
I am the hunger for food
The need to drink water
And to just wash to get clean.
But you don’t understand me.
If I said I was a soldier and the war,
I went to has never left me,
Would you understand me?
I can’t tell you it took decades to speak,
Of Tracy…
Decades later I fight Christmas with all my strength,
And am left in tears,
I prayed so hard to bloody survive…
Life is hard and sometimes, I wished I had died.
I am all that debris, it’s breaking me,
It is me, it’s all I see.
But you don’t understand me.
I am still searching for me,
Who has stripped away in a wind…
Simply who I was is M.I.A.
I’m broken, I have P.T.S.D.
Worse I was labelled by my Government as a Darwin Refugee.
That tore my hometown from the grid.
And I have been lost for over 42 years.
Christmas to me is of a loss on a scale
That does not exist…except in a war.
And you don’t understand me.
It is my day to grieve for those who died,
My sacred ground that no one, but those
Who were there that day deserve to walk upon…
It’s my day off from fighting each day,
A Cyclone that stole who I was
Nean Currey © 2017
Piano Capital – Barbara Eather

Piano Capital – Barbara Eather

According to folklore, there’s two eras in this town: Before Tracy and After. A simplistic assessment—just ask the Larrakia People—but it’s still an accepted ‘fact’. Merry Christmas, 1974. Take that up your clacker, Darwin. Plenty has been said about that mean little system—that bitch Tracy who almost wiped this northern capital off the map.

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