Written piece
The River Running Between Us
Martina Kontos
Australia
About this piece
As a third-generation Greek and Cypriot Australian, I wonder if the loss of immigrant culture from assimilating to avoid racism, contributed to Australia's attitude of de-emphasising Aboriginal culture. I think recognising this may divide or help sew our cultural patchwork whole.
Water threads through cracks of arid land,
Suturing an earth that refuses to hold together
Our greed, sneaking up through the fractures
Of tradition, gold and the scent of invasive olives.
My grandfather, a man with veins gilded
By the sun, a farmer with a dream of war
Finally ending, came Down Under to a country
Much like his own, except this time, he was
The one invading. He swapped his tongue
For the language of occupation, without knowing
The bullets he spoke; conformed to the majority;
Forgot the minority was once all that was
Ever known. His siblings found refuge in the country
That sent death to claim Australia as its own.
Is my family welcome here? Are we free to sew
Our history into the earth? To reap the fruit
We’ve only nurtured for three generations?
May my grandfather rest in his grave in holy
Land? May I, when I die? Thirsting for forgiveness
Is only the start. The rain heals, but it also undoes.