White Snow, White Wind, White Hair

White snow, white wind, white hands

A wave that didn’t get to crash. What if this wave doesn’t fall, will it keep rising? When will it be too much? And if it does crash will it hurt the other waves?

The spiders in the corner of my room, I know they judge me when I sleep.

Bleached skies

I hate the songs that remind me of you.

Distant unfocussed glances Absolutely nothing in the air tonight

— Mia Fraser, St Andrew's College

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Showcasing the winners of the Poetry New Zealand Yearbook student poetry competition 2021 Compiled to celebrate Phantom Billstickers National Poetry Day 2021

Text © copyright individual contributors, 2021

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