Some of the finer points, you don’t get to decide

like whether your first memory features
a freshly planted fuchsia, dripping beneath a hose
or the interior of a van at night

or if your childhood was the sort of place
where people could, in good conscience,
leave things unattended

or whether the dog gets to live after killing
the neighbours’ chickens

and whether the house feels like a pyramid of knucklebones
holding up your muscles or a tin hat
of cheap luncheon meat

or whether someone else’s marriage will survive once all the
decorating swatches have been cleared away

and if the steering wheel will come off in your hands
as you bomb it past the
vacuum cleaner repair shop

Catherine Trundle

 

Catherine Trundle is an anthropologist, writer, mother, and university lecturer based in Wellington, New Zealand. She enjoys writing poetry, flash fiction and experimental ethnography.

© 2018