Sue is a poet and fiction writer. A former physiotherapist and acupuncturist, Sue writes about all kinds of things but has a particular interest in the intersection of medicine and the humanities. … Read more about About
Strip … compelling and extraordinarily humane … skilful characterisation and excellent pacing… Her small cast – Harvey, wife Isobel and daughter Fleur – are perfectly pitched.” – Sally Blundell, NZ Listener, 7 January 2017
By Birdlight, a collection of poems remarkable for their inventiveness, grace and range of reference.” – Fiona Farrell, NZ Listener online 1 December 2011
Sea foam at Gemstone Beach
Yellow sea foam is emerging from the ocean, wave
upon wave of jelly-creatures slithering from salt
to shore. Here it comes, a species long cradled in the deep,
shedding fathoms, shedding sea-water, not yet limbed for land.
Spongy-looking, lung-like. On they come. Quivering,
shuddering, sucking at gravity, light, the searing wind.
Never has there been such pain. Excruciating. Addictive.
They must! They must! They will! They will!
They scud, they skate, and each metre more onto the beach
is another bone cell imagining itself out of jelly. Is this joy?
It is joy! Shake, shake! Jelly-creatures conquer the world!
Until the sandbank, its small wall studded with gemstones.
Quartz, topaz, amethyst. Earth-kilned, earth-polished,
each is reversing out of land. Not so as you’d notice, but
plop, plop, eon by eon, they are falling back to the beach.
Still the yellow sea foam comes, and piles in a wobble
at the barrier, puzzling at solidity. Concentrate! Concentrate!
Wings? Wings! The first shreds fly up and over.