A poem by Wellington poet Jenny Bornholdt. Finance City bracketed by snow woollens airborne in the hall. Starved, our animal selves tore grass from the lawn, bark from the trees, trotted to where our children gnawed the bones of animals smaller than themselves. Was this the end of the world? Of childhood? … Read more
A new poem by Wellington poet Jenny Bornholdt. Duck Three Ways Let’s put our mother’s favourite cat socks on and move to Canada. * Let’s eat duck three ways. The first the way my flatmate hit one in his car. After bundling the body into the boot, he drove home, traumatised, to tell … Read more
New verse by Wellington writer Jenny Bornholdt Time We woke to spring nuzzling at the window. Winter’s passed, like last night’s hail in the gin. Frozen puddle in the freezer a reminder; like our son’s placenta, still there after eleven years— us frozen by indecision, which tree and where? Sons grown to men. One … Read more