Finding Australia

(for Miss Brockman)

We learned the directions of the compass, names of brave sailors
who sounded like philosophers, coloured in their sailing ships,
drew map after map that tracked noblemen spun by wild winds
who tried to find spices, and almost found Australia.

Unwieldy ships were washed up on far-flung reefs or islands.
When finally they found it, they put up flags on hilltops, nailed
plaques to trees. Captain Stirling was certain he’d found Perth,
so certain he brought boatloads of people down the Swan River

to witness it, commission paintings, build houses, forge roads.
Australia was young and proud, our future was on a plate.
We filled our project books with drawings of early settlers
in smart soldier outfits, women in long skirts and bonnets.

They kept on finding, as they trekked through rugged terrain
to discover more and more of what had not yet been found.
We coloured in more maps, listened to stories of hardship
when tattered men perished for us in search of an inland sea.

Then our eccentric year 9 social studies teacher whispered:
Terra nullius? Terra nullius? Australia was not discovered:
here were already people here right across the beaches,
plains, forests and deserts, who knew every bump and echo. 

She showed us slides of black men in chain gangs, eyes disjointed
with shock, frightened black women in shift dresses, archives
of river poisonings and battles for land where only one side won.
She showed us modern photos of black people on reserves

with scattered rubbish and makeshift houses staring out of the dust,
told of a whole generation of children taken from their parents.
There weren’t any pictures of brave men in sailing ships.
I wondered if we’d dreamt it all and what else they lied about.