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Mia Gaudin (Epsom Girls Grammar School, Auckland)

harriet

I

It was twelve

you crossed the road
in your dad's
" lawyers never lose their appeal" t-shirt
and sat down laughing

I offered you eggs

but instead
you gave me the marshmallows
from your flat white
and we talked

about uni courses
the ball
and the colours of the sky

II

We were ten

you went to America for two terms
and when you called me
with a half rehearsed accent

I cried
and told you to come home

you did (with candy)
so your dad had a party
with his lawyer friends

we stole cherries
from downstairs
and spent the night
at your bedroom window
spitting pips
and watching them roll quietly
down iron grooves
on your neighbours' roof

• Tabitha Bushell, Yr 12, Auckland Girls' Grammar School: ‘Ink Man''
• Nic Harty, Yr 12, Karamu High School: 'Stranger'
• Hunter Douglas, Yr 12, Wellington College: 'Peter Pan'
• Ish Doney, Yr 12, St Andrews College, Christchurch: 'Make It More Like a Song'
• Alissa Hacket, Yr 13, Wanganui High School: 'Lullaby for an Insomniac Nation'
• Grace Thomas, Yr 12, Wellington High School: 'Brief Reality'
• Arron McLaughlin, Yr 13, Hamilton Boys' High School: 'bridge, river, hands, and'

Sophia Graham – (Year 13, Epsom Girls Grammar School, Auckland)

Like Tea and Crumpets

I was almost Victoria Jane. Like tea and crumpets.
Like train stations. Like long gloves.

And then I wasn't. I was ‘baby Graham’
and at night, my mother,
smuggling me out of the hospital nursery,
would whisper names in my ear,
trying them on me like hats,
testing to see which ones tripped off her tongue,
and which got lodged at the back of her throat.

Daddy wanted to call me Grace. Like his grandmother.
Like lace handkerchiefs. Like hymns.

But my mother said Grace was a name for old ladies,
so the tag on my wrist was unchanged, my birth unregistered,
and my uncles, playing with my toes and counting my fingers,
laughed and called me Gertrude, Horatia, Augusta.

My aunt said that my name should be Lila. Like scented pillows.
Like dusty books. Like soft jazz.

Still my mother read books
and tried to find a name I could live up to,
while my daddy tucked me into my cot,
with satin trimmed blankets.

And then I was Sophia Claire. Like Greek philosophers.
Like Italian screen sirens. Like pink roses.

I was Sophia Claire. Like wisdom.
Like clarity.  Like me.

Alisha Vara – (Year 12, Rangi Ruru Girls' School, Christchurch)

strawberries strung on lines

I

the house is vast
and blank.

every good boy deserves fruit, you
whisper, your face imprisoned

in me where
a gazelle creeps through green,

through blood,
raw and persisting
as we say grace.

II

the world never seemed
so bizarre before.

I cut my fingernails short and
paint them red,
like red strawberries strung on lines,

stolen lines with a certain kind of grace.

I want to know who will read this, read my
mind and see me lost within the bed like I
see it now and

make it clear I could never quit
your morning coffee or sad smiles.

I will not show this to anyone.

III

we have just begun.

you say sanguine and repeat it.
I am cycling down a hill with the rain,
soft and endless.

what would you do with the sky

unravel and weave it through your ceiling,
string it down your harp?

your hands rough and
dry on my skin.

You’ll remember

you’ll remember
that one summer
it was me and you
and taumati
and sometimes fabian
(who calls their kid fabian anyway)
but their mum was a bit
weird, eh,
made us that quiche with
sultanas
gave me the big
bit cause i was the
only girl
i didn’t mind

couple of things
from that summer
stand out:
when we egged alicia
suarez’s house
she pushed fabe in the
fountain
the bitch;
and when we jumped
into the
river
out the back of your house
it was
freezing
i didn’t want to
didn’t bring togs
you pushed me in
i was sure
(and i’ll only say this now)
that you had a
crush
on me
would explain some things

thing is
that summer
(or was it autumn?
greymouth, man
not orlando—
rained every second day)
i’m starting to forget
there was something
that happened
there was you
there was me
i forget
i know you’ll remember

by Catherine Marshall
Yr 12, Rangi Ruru College