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Caroline Shepherd


at night when I’m done pretending
              I think about love really going on forever like a F·R·I·E·N·D·S syndication or the motorway

how physical that sounds,       love forever                   picture love pulled through you with
knitting needles. Doused over the body like gravity. Sat as unnoticed as your tongue. 

            More rooted than cancer, even. ’Cause they can cut that out. Something not just a
part of you. More than your opinion on open-plan houses    or      how you roll your jeans

                                                   love like nails.              Bone.               Blood. It makes you.

Caroline Shepherd lives in Wellington without a cat, which is a shame. She’s very tired and bad at jaywalking.