Bury the lamb My whaea’s voice, our bloodline on the winter wind Carried itself to me So I slide myself under the barbed wire fence, bundling up Pale white limbs in deerskin I hold her close to my chest Aware Of the dirt, the death The disease so close to my bare skin Under my nails the dirt stings The hole deepens On a blanket of wildflowers Yellow, red and blue The lamb lies still ‘Okiokinga o inaianei’ Eerie In the quiet fields Rectangular pupils take in the blood spilling Over my top lip, slipping into my mouth Dripping onto the overturned earth There’s a pressure on my throat Like I was buried with her Broken in the arms of Papatūānuku A lamb in her eyes — Georgia Wearing, Solway College
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