issue 4

october 2016

issue 4 - october 2016

The Dead Room - Jeanie Richards

the sun-drenched room in my house 
is called the dead room 
it’s where I go 
to make memories

a nephew holding a half empty bottle of steiny 
sits next to his cousin in her piupiu 
singing whale songs 
in mahesian melodies

a dreadlocked bro 
carves a waka and  
blows us away 
with the lead and melody 
of Hey Joe 
on a three string guitar

an old mate holds a snapper 
way out in front of him 
makes it look bigger…he reckons

dad in a turban 
plays a stick flute 
to tame an imaginary cobra 
that strikes at mum

in a silly xmas hat 
my tane with the toothy grin 
wears the taonga 
carved by guitar hero bro

sitting next to our 
beautiful nephew 
whose neck was snapped 
at a roundabout 
in the fog

I hang out in the dead room 
a lot 
always toasty warm

sometimes I shiver 
sometimes I want to join them

Contributor's Note

Aussie exile who has lived in NZ for the last 20 years. Studied Sociology/Philosophy at Waikato from 95-01. Returned to work at Waikato in 2012 where she has been dabbling in creative writing.  Interested in social justice issues and prospecting.


This product has been added to your cart