And she was, she always was.īack she would come with verve and vitality, a new poem, or a link to a piece of writing about her battle with depression. She often tweeted her despair and sometimes I found myself checking with one of her friends on Twitter to see if we all thought Paula would be okay. I didn’t know it was the same Paula from the poetry workshop, but we hit it off and liked one another’s tweets and chatted now and then on private message. Years went by and Paula and I reconnected on social media. I forged friendships with two other women more my age, middleclass like me. I was a late starter, just turning 50, and Paula would have been a young thing in her 20s. I met Paula back in the late 1990s when we were attending Greg O'Brien's undergraduate poetry course at Victoria University. She wrote about sex, depression, her stoma, small town New Zealand, men, the good, the bad and the ugly. The gatekeepers no longer have to worry about keeping Paula Harris outside their gate
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