Author
Alistair Kerr
For thirty years I looked after the glasshouse at a botanic garden in Dunedin: the orchids, the cacti, a banana palm that never once fruited and a tree fern older than my grandmother. I wrote poems on seed packets and watering rosters, and kept them in a biscuit tin under the potting bench. When I retired, the new curator found the tin and handed it back with a look I am still thinking about. These are some of those poems, and some new ones. I live on a hill above Otago Harbour with a wood stove, a lot of weather and the memory of a very good dog called Moss.
