Mary Macpherson


The Game

Tree, I’m glad we’re finally talking—
all summer I was riding a cloud
across the harbour, flying
round the hills and metallic tower.
But when your leaves drifted down,
you became an elegant bouquet of bones
and I fell into your intricacy. First, I saw
you as curly hair, each wave twisting in
and out—never still. Then you wore
a lacy sweater full of diamond holes
hung with rain. Through your body
I spied part of a hill, a house,
and then, a figure, moving. When I walk
into the room, I’m like a lover, eager
for our next game. If the blind is down
I quickly scan for flickering on the fabric.
You are the fine naked restless one
I never want to meet.



Mary Macpherson is a Wellington poet and photographer. In 2006 she completed the MA in Creative Writing at Victoria University. Her previous publications are the joint collection Millionaire’s Shortbread (OUP, 2003) and The Inland Eye (Pemmican Press, 1998).