A Hundred Gourds 2:1 December 2012
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Owen Bullock & Patricia Prime - New Zealand


news of suicide
the soft yellow
of daffodils

Not even someone I knew, but my movements slow and I become forgetful and clumsy. I feel like I am behind in my visits for the rest of the day, though, in fact, I started that way.

the unfolding passage
of my hand’s shadow

I stand by a breathless window and think about frozen mountain lakes and how we ventured a short distance across the ice beneath falling snowflakes. But relief is impossible now, as the wind picks up, swirls across the lawn and through the Norfolk pine, its needles clicking like castanets.

The field is peppered with pukeko today; they graze, fight and mate. So many lessons about the past have informed the last few days. Even that’s gone. I don’t know how long I’ll last out in the fresh air.

an old stocking
tied to the verandah post

tips of the ferns
greener than green


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