new zealand electronic poetry centre
  
   Capital of  the minimal
J e a n n e   B e r n h a r d t
The Snow Poems


     
TO HERSELF

 

She came toward us serious grave seeming older
than she was resolved so to herself despite
what must have been an obligation she'd never imagined
because surely someone with less attachment
could have stood and crossed the room
giving her this kindness
an eight year old girl, and we waited in dread, almost
closing our eyes, praying something would halt her
those careful steps across the floor, where we sat
like ghouls our clenched hands purple and held our drinks 


 
 


Jeanne Bernhardt 2004


 


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Last updated 13 July, 2004