Amelie Rettig Shortlisted for Mosman Youth Awards in Literature

Congratulations to Amelie Rettig of Year 11, whose poem Unburied was shortlisted for the Mosman Youth Awards in Literature 2026. Inspired by her work with Joseph Pfeffer, English teacher, in Reading to Write, Amelie crafts a powerful meditation on memory, loss and human connection.

Unburied demonstrates such maturity in its exploration of life and remembrance, weaving together vivid sensory detail with a compelling narrative voice. The poem’s final revelation is so moving, highlighting Amelie’s ability to create atmosphere and meaning with subtlety and precision.

Being shortlisted for this prestigious award is a wonderful achievement and recognition of Amelie’s talent as a young writer. We are delighted to celebrate her success! 

Unburied

You stepped between the rows of tombstones,
The soil soft and black under your boots.
The air was bitter
as it pressed against your supple skin
but the warmth from inside your chest kept you at ease.

Your pulse echoed through the hollowed place,
a stubborn drum in a cathedral of silence.
The black soil beneath your boots seemed to hum in reply,
soft, as if it had been waiting for life to return.

The wind picked up, brushing past bare branches
as their weaker leaves detached,
falling to become absorbed by the ground.

It was winter after all.

Your hands brushed over the cold marble of the nearest tomb,
tracking each carved letter.
The names pressed into your fingertips like soft ridges of memory.
Sensations of life trickled up your spine,
gazing upon the thick dirt
covering the whispers of a soul once breathed.

At night, something would wrap itself around your neck,
something that nearly choked you as you fell asleep.

Morning returned you to the graveyard,
to rows of grey tombs needing taken care of,
their surfaces pale and weathered beneath a thinning sky.

For miles you traced the same paths.
For miles, nothing stirred.

Your warmth drifted through the cold like a seep of light during a night sky.
Your pulse marked time where no clocks mattered,
each beat ticking away like a signal sent with no receiver.

Until there was.

It was right then, as you passed the thinning line of trees,
that the man behind them told you: don’t forget the far row.

– Amelie Rettig (Year 11)

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