The Sunday poem, by Elaine Webster

2026-02-14 - 17:09

A marriage I remember the dogs in the daisies and the long grass where summer entered its own heart I remember that you carried the picnic, walking down green avenues to the centre of the world. I remember watching clouds crawl across the afternoon where your face was in my eyes, with the mingled smell of sunlit mint and strawberries from the garden of no return. I remember driving through Central Otago where grass was ash on the hottest day of the year. How caught in circles, we argued over road signs until we found the dry streambed, blue with flowers, glinting with fool’s gold, and we turned. I remember flat pack furniture – such a big risk on the last day of a tough year.