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Photography: Sarah Reed
Jan FitzGerald.

Born in 1950, Jan was first published in Landfall, NZ Listener, Poetry Australia  and other literary journals of the 70s. She continues in current poetry publications such as Poetry NZ, Takahe, Catalyst, Kokako, Bravado, Spin, Southern Ocean Review, Brief, JAAM & Valley Micropress. She works and lives in Tauranga.

A strategist
in subtle intimidation
she zings past our ears

arrows out
trails a straw 
umbilicus of the river 

as a mirage
she flirts with waterfalls

for a fly-by

ready to deliver
should we overstep the mark
poetic justice

swift retribution.

waiting on full moon

I am bones laid out
nothing is hidden

lit by darkness
a marauding owl.

If Baba Yaga
flies into the room I’ll say
Sorry I gave you a blue rinse in the painting
but you wouldn’t stop grinning…

as for that clapped-out cauldron
how’d you like to borrow
the V8 in the garage?
Go like a rocket across the sky…

Hairs of the dead
from Baba Yaga’s broomstick,
whispers of light sweep the room.

I shiver knowing…
She knows me so well
there are no shadows to hide in.
I am bones laid out

let the singing begin.

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