Sunday, July 31, 2011

Advanced: National Schools Poetry Prize

The winning poem.
Great achievement for a 13 year old. At that age I was still trying to find words that rhymed.

Nan
At the funeral
we sang beneath
high-beamed ceilings
in yellow light filtered
through a stained glass jesus.
I whispered to a bent microphone
of fish bones and sick days
of hot cocoa rice and
early morning mutterings of prayer
and of you.
But when I stood above you
eyes cast down
fixed on your cold cheek
I couldn't bring myself to
touch you.


Or you could watch an animated version here:
http://vimeo.com/26752033

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