It’s my first poetry festival and I’m about to take a risk and read a rebel poem about a fight with Mum, can I do it? What will Mum do?
I had to read it. Fourteen summers of discontent as the big sister came over me.
It was my first poetry festival. Mr Kidd, my English teacher had encouraged me to share some work.
The garden of faces looking back at me included: my short Mekeo Mum and tall Australian Dad, fellow poets looking kind of poetical, people who I assumed liked listening to poetry as well as a few of the town’s local English teachers.
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