In Guernica

In Guernica the dead children Were laid out in order upon the sidewalk, In their white starched dresses, In their pitiful white dresses. On their foreheads and breasts Are the little holes where death came in As thunder, while they were playing Their important summer games. Do not weep for them, madre. They are gone …

Gail Ingram – A poem for Christchurch

My friend Gail Ingram, who is a Christchurch poet, writer, and editor, has done what I don’t seem to be able to do and put eloquent words around some of what we’re all feeling. And Radio NZ had the immense good sense to whip her into the studio and record it. Have a listen: