The Tuesday Poem: Refeaturing Frankie McMillan — “Out of the blue”

Out of the blue

On a morning when I stare
at small things

like the curve of a spoon
or light on a white rimmed plate

you ring, breathless
with talk of wild pigs,

how they swept down
from the Aorere Hills

on a moonlit night
to ravage your garden –

the winter cabbages
pale roots upended

like ghostly masts.

Once our mother buried
broken china in the ground

blue willow blue willow

now you pick shards from the mud
the lovers, you say, still wave

from the arching bridge.
.

Frankie McMillan
from Dr...