Tuesday poem: Displacement by Sarah Broom

Like that time when my son called out to me
and my reply caught and died, gorse-choked, in my throat,
as I heard a voice, somewhere in the house,
answer in my stead. A voice like mine,
but harder, rougher, more real than me,
and I felt ghostly, supplanted, insubstantial,
and had to steady the lurch inside me
before trying my voice and my step
like a miner standing in rubble and darkness
testing each limb and tasting the dust on his lips.

From Tigers at Awhitu (page 27) by Sarah Broom
Published by Auckland University Press
Used with the permission of Auckland University Press


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