To Mr. John Wyndham,
This is the outer edge of space, you know.
Since first Maui paddled out here in his
brothers' best waka (that's canoe to you)
this has been the edge.
What do you think of us in our secure
isolation? A golden land, to which
your chrysalids may limp from Labrador?
Labrador! (Where the heck is that?)
Oh, sir, you stand at the still dead centre.
Time fleets us, also, and the spinning world
throws us ever outward to an unkenned
undiscovered shore.
When next you write a refuge, remember:
this is the outer edge of space.
-- Stephanie Pegg, May 2006
(This is the first draft. Critical comments are welcome.)
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