Mira Walker

Lamb

I’m mid flight in a ripper game of chaseys, hightailing from my sister and her saddlebag of grudges. Now called to a halt. A sheep with a crook around its throat. Was I squealing? A dressing down. By Him, The Boss of Everything, more overwhelming than God. But also the lone male in our family, and we are three fleet girls—suddenly unified. I protest, as best I can, his dull fable of shepherd and youth, its claim on my voice.

“We’re not boys!”

“Well, I’ll tell you the story about the girl who cried fire!”

forbidden screams
‘the boy who cried wolf’
Dad’s example 
our playtime, our sleep, food 
for his pack of hungers

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About the Author

Mira Walker lives and writes on the lands of the Ngunngawal & Ngambri peoples of Australia’s Canberra region. Her poetry is published internationally, haiku anthologised and tanka awarded. She watches weather patterning, colouring and texturing ranges on her horizon.

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