deep south 2013
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dsj poetry
Autumn - 1949
Along the side path
past the summer-house
lift the chain off its thick-topped tack
and open the gate
to the wood-heap
piled high with fuel for the fires.
Totara, pink and easy to chop
with fat hu-hu grubs
lodging inside.
That's for the fire's second helping.
First, pick up chips
to kindle the fire
after the paper's ignited.
When winter comes
and the days draw in
the ring around the fireside
tightens.
Joan Anderson grew up in a benign farming valley in the Catlins. Her occasional poems are an attempt to capture the vivid memories she has of those years.
