Two children daring each other to touch an electric fence

Elise Sadlier

In winter your muscles fasten together in an icy paralysis. You walk barefoot on the railway – your feet warmed by the rumble of trains. You can feel their vibrato as they approach, shaking the dewdrops on the frost-bound earth. 
You hold fast to the sleepers, enamoured by the headlights and the scream of the whistle. 

But even you know better. 
The bolt clicks into place.

//

The first time you fell for that sound 
the sweet dislocation of your shoulder
the metallic residue on your fingers
copper left out to oxidise
James telling you that cow skulls are hard as concrete
bullets ricochet through the air like fireflies

That same night you heard the cows being calved
the begging of their swollen udders
knocking on the door of your dreams 
pulling you into dawn early
the tang of electricity crackling in the air

//

You hold your hand over the wire 
trying to capture its hum 

I smirk at you with anticipation 
daring you to touch it

You say 
I’ll only touch it if you hold my hand 

But holding your hand means trusting you

What if I get struck down to the earth 
and I can’t get up?

__

Born and raised in Tairāwhiti, Elise Sadlier is a part-time artist and writer, full-time sooky bubba. She finished her BFA(Hons) in 2022 and is currently studying towards a Diploma of Māori Language fluency at Te Wānanga Takiura. You can find her on Instagram and TikTok as @elise_sadlier.

The above photograph was supplied by the author, and captured by Ahipene Walton Sadlier in 2012.