They cut great slabs of fat off her legs.
One of the pears has a perfect nipple of rot
at the top, and a single thread of weeping
from the stem.
Mary holds the hearts in place so the doctors can stitch them back up.
A baby is born holding her heart in her hand.
‘I’ve probably held a thousand hearts.’
Oh ladies, watering your roses in these hot dry places!
Lucy draws her feet endlessly.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Emily Dobson now finds herself a beekeeper’s wife high in the hills of rural Hawkes Bay. She has published one book of poems, a box of bees (VUP, 2005).