Memorial To Tanya Burr, killed 15 September 2002

(An attempt at a poem - 20/1/2003. Many thanks to Nicola for inspiring it.)

 

The bulk of this poem was written four months after Tanya's death. At the time I was really struggling to cope with what was happening. Creating this website was one of the activities I devoted huge amounts of time to doing to get through the days - and nights. One of Tanya's school friends then found the website and she and I traded emails for a while. 

She mentioned how she had been led to search the internet for 'grief poems' as part of her healing process from a tragic family loss. She suggested I try the same thing, but the ones I found did not fit with the scenario (murder) that I was trying to survive. So I found myself trying to write my own. Not having done so in 35 years (that one being about a dying horse), I didn't remember much about how to do this. So I devised my own style. 

At the time I wrote the poem, the case was subjudice, and it had come to feel as though Tanya had been quickly forgotten by all but those closest to her. The poem allowed me to say the things I felt and the things I wanted to say, but which I was otherwise prevented from saying publicly because of the subjudice situation. In that sense, therefore, the poem was hugely healing for me.

Anyway, enjoy, hopefully...

Thirty-two Dollars for Two Lives and a Car

 

Named for a precious horse dead at twenty-three,

But tragically the same age you would never see,

We never guessed fate would see you as you are,

When I brought you home in Grandpa's clapped-out Humber car.

 

Six months before, you almost died,

One afternoon when I took Mum's car for a ride.

So yet another "Old Fogey" almost sent you where you are,

By rolling Grandma's Triumph with yet another pushy Peugeot car.

 

A troubled kid, you wanted your Dad,

By fourteen you knew results improved by simply acting 'bad'.

As you review your life from where you now are,

I bet you still laugh at your special tape - blaring in your cringing father's car!<

 

Your motto from birth was, 'run, don't walk',

And so your teenage years were 'act now, don't think - and never balk'.

Always nagged that impulse might get you were you are.

Still, by adulthood it seemed only you could not drive a car.

 

No problem though. Just a few lessons needed.

Six weeks and a learner's licence - no cautions heeded.

So to the car sales. Seek the right colour and here you are!

Proud owner moments later of your very own real live PlayStation racing car!

 

No problem insurance rules, the right licence and so on,

Until, that is, a Waikato tree you accidentally took on.

So faithful Mum to the rescue from the mess that things are,

And soon there before us is a somewhat battered little red car.

 

Ten weeks later - when the next licence was due,

A patched up Honda came safely back to you.

Mum had wised up on that one. Didn't want you where you are.

Even advised that basic maintenance was worthy of such a nice little car.

 

So you got your restricted licence. Life again was bliss.

Specially after that first drive here - with two kittens declared surplus.

Next came Hilda Street and the countdown to things that are,

Still you quickly learned to care for your little skewbald car.

 

Trouble with fancy PlayStation cars, though, is they go a wee bit fast.

Seventy demerit points in four months gives lessons meant to last!

Snapped at 140k's - and a begrudged $500 is the way that things are,

Until St. Peter decreed otherwise - as he chuckled from his heavenly sport car!

Many more drives to Palmerston and a European holiday,

Gave you a range of skills that should have benefited you always.

How could we know we'd next see you as you are?

As you headed home to Rotorua in your Integra car.

 

Finally, last two of eight, are safely home from Norway.

What relief I think driving home through Hiwinui.

Safe, tired, happy in Rotorua is how I know you are.

Then, wham! Farmdog Murphy wrecks the door of my car!

 

We'd talked, we shared memories, we dreamed of the future.

Yet none of us knew that for you there was no future?

Suddenly, horrifically, stabbed dead on the floor you are.

And now a blood-stained youth - a stranger - IS DRIVING in your car!

 

As he speeds through the night thinks 'escape town quick',

The best he can come up with is "I stabbed a chick."

Youth cares not a jot for who or where you now are.

Its just that you've not left enough fuel in your stupid damned car!

 

Stops in the darkened carpark of a lonely closed gas station.

No luck, and the car won't restart! This wasn't meant to happen!

No fuel, no gain, escape messed - and here we inevitably are!

Because a computer fault shut down the fuel pump of one defiant little car...!

 

Twelve hours later you and cats are found.

But in Palmy with Murphy's mess, there is not a sound.

Media is desperate to know who and where we all are,

Yet my only thought's for Murphy's latest Law - and the sorry state of MY poor car!

 

Many, many hours later, some nice cops at last arrive,

Your car is found, the media wants your name and photo - and you are not alive.

I want, I need, I demand to know how and where you are!

Oh yes. They also want last Friday's photo that I took of your car.

 

Police know who they are seeking, as he's been dobbed in.

A matter of time and he'll be safely in the bin.

Still an Auckland dissection slab is where you now are.

While fingerprinting dust and blood smells permeate your home and car.

 

You yearned for your Dad for years but he came a little late.

You hoped and lost, as an angry youth just wouldn't let you wait.

How tragic that it took that trip in a coffin to where you are,

To ever spend such a long, long, long time alone with your Dad - in that lonely 4WD car.

 

Such a private person who usually dreaded attention.

In death your pretty face found fame and considerable mention.

Media, of course, is captured by who and where you are.

As you make your oh so sad last trip through Kelvin Grove in that slow-moving funeral car.

Cats disturbed are bugged that you rise.

Stranger needing help takes you by surprise.

A small cry I guess, a fall. Why do you lie still like you are?

Why did that kid just take your keys, drive off in your car?

 

Get up Tanya, don't just stare?

Get up Tanya, go brush your messy hair?

You'll get cold and stiff lying like you are.

And why did that kid just take off in your car?

 

Two cats in a wardrobe stricken with fright.

Scary monster's back - only now he's dressed in white!

Please, please, Tanya, come get us from where you are?

And why did that one who knocked last night take off in your car?

 

Time passes and all is quiet. Food's there but not the same.

Furniture's moved and some is gone after other people came.

House smells odd and we really must know where you are?

Some people took our TV away - stuffed in the back of YOUR car!

 

Time passes and a familiar face appears outside.

We want to leave but cannot - and she can't get inside.

More strangers come. We can't escape. You won't know where we are?

As we drive away trapped in cages - in the stranger's car.

 

We know those voices. We aren't alone. We really have been found.

We know those dogs. That big brown one - and that pesky little hound!

Now, thank God, we are at grandma's house. We know where we are.

Despite those sleepy drugs and drivers, and that noisy white car.

 

But where are you Tanya? And why are we here?

Don't you love us now? Didn't you really care?

Still you will growl when we find you, wherever that you are.

Cos lots and lots of people have been driving in your car!

 

Cats' stuff comes in boxes smelling of your room.

Home is not the same though. Without you life's a gloom.

Grandma doesn't fuss like you. So please tell us where you are?

Why is all your stuff down here? When are you coming for your car?

Shiny giant TV screen and cats that all saw you die.

None of us dreamed that this would be goodbye.

People say get rid of things that remind me where you are.

Specially, they tell me, must get rid of that car.

 

But we don't grieve that way for you.

Don't throw things out, can't just start anew.

We can never forget why and where you are.

So we will indefinitely have your things, your cats, your car.

 

'Forgive', 'move on', are words of those who've never truly suffered.

How can we do this when we'll always be so angered.

I can never forget how you got to where you are.

His filth will never truly be off your things - or your blood-red little car.

 

From Turangi to Wellington to Porirua dosshouse.

Rings his Mum who tells the cops - caught quiet as a mouse.

What joy if instead he'd become as you are.

As the cop took the Glock from the boot of his car!

 

Youth's locked up now. Not much fun.

Not so sure now it was a good thing that he's done.

Youth cares for himself though, not for who or where you are.

And of course he messed up bad with that silly red car!

 

My years of worry went from stranger danger to terror.

How you grumped or indulged if I pointed out some risk or error.

I couldn't save you this time from ending where you are.

But I can still protect your memory, your cats - and your flaming car!

 

You told me and others you met of your growing little tum.

You failed to add that this was because you were to be a mum.

So shocked to learn a tiny child also went to where you are.

Callous youth had murdered two - simply to get your car!

 

One day out stealing and a night on a drug trip.

Meanwhile you reach Rotorua to sleep off your plane trip.

So an angry stranger stalks in the night to where you are,

Saves a $32 bus fare, takes two lives and a car.

 

Why is it that this time you let your guard down?

Some sad plea, vaguely familiar or maybe a safe tone?

But an evil core came to put you where you are.

Only evil could ass-u-me a full wallet and car!

 

And why do odd things keep happening? Are you really gone?

Could a strong willed girl like you maybe hold on?

Have you continued pulling strings, in spite of where you are?

And why is it weird stuff still happens to computers and your car?