Poem – Bernadette Hall

The Stories

Once upon a time
there was a little girl
in a flannel petticoat

who kicked up her heels
in her auntie’s pub
where there was a well

in the middle of the bar
and you had to be careful
or you’d fall in. A tomboy.

And the goat chased her
and she had to hide in the dunny,
hanging on like grim death

to the little string
that pulled the door back in.
Now there’s the whinge

of the gate hinge
and your slow shuffle
through the garden,

dragging another bag
of cherry leaves. Your room
is full of plastic ivy.

Remember how we used to walk
crooked down Montgomery Avenue
to Benediction on a Sunday night

and you’d bump me giggly
into the soft bat wings
of the new holly?

These are our stories,
mother, and we’ll stick to them.
Getting them straight.

 

— Bernadette Hall

Tagged with: , ,
Posted in Poem
Search the archive
Generic selectors
Exact matches only
Search in title
Search in content
Search in posts
Search in pages
Filter by Categories
Architecture
Art
Autobiography
Awards
Biography
Byline
Children
Comment
Contents
ebooks
Economics
Editorial
Education
Essays
Extract
Fiction
Gender
Graphic novel
Health
History
Imprints
Language
Lecture
Letters
Letters
Literature
Māori
Media
Memoir
Music
Natural History
Non-fiction
Obituaries
Opinion
Pacific
Photography
Plays
Poem
Poetry
Politics & Law
Psychology
Religion
Review
Science
Short stories
Sociology
Sport
War
YA Reviewers
Young adults
Recent issues: subscriber-only access

    Subscribe to NZ Books to access the issues above

    Search by category

    See more