an Aotearoa poetry journal | ISSN 2744-3248

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Tarot #07
Tarot #06
Tarot #05
Tarot #04
Tarot #03
Tarot #02
Tarot #01

sweater weather

you watched the buses snake
through the curly kelburn hillside
and accidentally ashed your cig
over the unmarked grave
of the mouse I found that morning
beneath the kitchen sink
while telling me how the pine smelt
like trees and not your father
burnt christmas candles
low-grade bleach.
you started shivering
should we have gone inside?