got caught on a fence
that she was not meant to climb over
that Rapunzel’s mane
stuck like ivy to the brick of her tower.
and raced her to the front door;
felt her stomach
tie itself into a knot.
and put the younger mother in her place.
This is the circuit that I trace—
who wasn’t even a loop on my mother’s finger.
I am still trying to catch them up.
Little Red Herring
coveralled grandpop squeezed into a corner by the fridge,
mum perched obliquely across his lap.
Roses swam in his eyes.
In a left-hand window, a bone-coloured moon was on the rise.
jump from one line to the next,
in which the nineteen-nineties succeed the nineteen-sixties,
of angular open-work
separates the lines with an X.
and lapped ceaselessly
at a shoreline
the coast of family.
There can be no comparing of families, no choosing between;
I would need to have been
as thin as a fish, and neat and mean.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Erin Scudder is completing an MA in Literature at Victoria University. Her short fiction has appeared in Damki magazine (Osaka, Japan), she has published essays on the work of NZ artists Fitts & Holderness and Cat Simpson, and she is writing her first book of poetry.
‘Fingered Lace’ and ‘Little Red Herring’ are forays into the (newly established) genre of crochet poetry. Crochet poems are slight, fairytalish, and full of escape routes. They might also involve time slips, loopholes, and stitches that haven’t quite been invented yet.