Poem – Nina Powles


On her last visit to New Zealand
her father took her picture at Makara Beach.
She’s smiling, and her hair is being tossed
by the wind.

I went there once just after a storm had passed.
The waves were pushing tree trunks
twice my height, roots and all,
up onto the shore close to where I stood,
the wind whipping my hair in circles.

If there was sound in space,
what would it sound like
when galaxies collide?
Would it sound like this?

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