Poem: Pine Hill

A poem about my one time in Dunedin.

In Dunedin, when I was 13, staying
with strangers, it was cold in a way
I had never experienced until then.

We were there to play hockey, the
games ran smoothly —but the family
we stayed with left us alone at night.

Waking up alone in someone else’s
home meant the frostiness we felt
wasn’t just the weather.

You remember odd things at
strange times. Especially when
they seemed to mean no harm.