Rebecca Nash

WHEELS ON FIRE   2013 Baker’s hours means I’m home and it’s two in the afternoon. It has been three days since I last did any proper sleeping. I am raging wide-eyed and insomniac. Nothing is even really real. Something that is not coffee, work or not-sleep needs to happen and it needs to happen quick-smart. At three in the afternoon I book myself a ticket on the evening ferry to Wellington. I have three and a half hours to get to Picton. It takes four and a half hours on a good day. I put my boots on and“Rebecca Nash”

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Rebecca Nash

An Oyster Catcher And down by the sea I watch you watch the birds Never no more to hold you In a black lost space Waiting for the fever And down in the creviced rock I run through broken shells Think of the fast feast With my back to the sea The oyster catcher watches close Down on the wettest cliffs Looking for the fattest pipi As your tangling Sand spat feet Climb the tussock home     For You This nightly light makes rooms from ash graves And bird weep the edges of our walking   Here the corners“Rebecca Nash”

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Rebecca Nash

Portrait of a snowy hill All the flowers on all the hills are seared white with snow. Their softness hardened by cold, As breasts standing tall, Breasts touched by a hand, raw and shivering. A real hand, Sharpened by air, Not a warm bedtime hand of memory. And I thought of you, Telling her you loved her because The snow fall was like the sky spewing forth the love it could not hold. And the coldness sets deeper in my heart And the coldness takes the easiness out of my breathing. And the coldness makes my breasts stand hard like“Rebecca Nash”

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