The Braided River: Migration and the personal essay
DOI:
https://doi.org/10.26686/jnzs.v0iNS31.6686Abstract
One of my earliest memories is sitting at the table in our rented house in Masterton with Dad and my brothers and hearing our mother crying in the loo. It was an unusual and frightening sound which is why I remember it vividly 67 years later – also Dad had cooked dinner which wasn’t his forte.
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Published
2020-12-14
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