Nanna died in her eightieth year and knew she would,
like her sisters before her, some kind of Catholic magic.
After she died my mother found two letters on her bedside table:
the last letters her sisters had written. Nanna reread
them before she left to see Cradle Mountain for the first time
with her last living sister. Her heart stopped in Burnie.
She never saw the mountain, but maybe it's the journey that counts.
My mother also found and wrapped and put away
the last wee knitted singlet my grandmother had made.
Passed on to me more than ten years later,
worn by my children, my sister’s child.
I couldn’t find it when my cousin’s daughter was born
and then I did find it, but didn’t post it in time.
Now, again, I don’t know where it is,
isn’t it strange how objects vanish and resurface