where i got the idea of apart from
for Papatūānuku
listen
—————————————————————
listen to movements
what are they like
now
that She has had
so long
to stretch
Her own body
out
wards
—————————————————————
it was either to stubbornly get mud all up the back of my legs
or it was that i kept my shoes on until the jams in my toes
began to stink through my school socks there was no in
between barefeet and otherwise i would sit in the back yard
with my legs crossed like some memory of meditation
transported from the television the clothes line would creak
before the wind the green green grass would tickle nervous lines
onto the hairs growing i would pull at one until the whole
line of root gave and stare at the patches of steam that pushed
from the little concrete path that followed the murder of a
whole colony of ants couldn’t smell them like how i could
smell them if and when i squeezed them into nothing between
my fingers and thumb
—————————————————————
i guess
He
misses
Her
&
vice versa
spinning on one foot
inside of a dust mote
seen in the reflection
of a lonely shuttle making its escape to the edges of the night
—————————————————————
listen
as She gives us
a whakapapa of shape
so unlike destruction
we all swim in Her until birth and long after
like flowers turned upside down and stretching towards warmth
—————————————————————
the fern is starting to dry out
the whir that saves us from mould extracts all
moisture from the plant
i sit the dying thing on the cabinet next to my bed
i lie my head on the pillow and watch it shrivel
—————————————————————
it’s like writing about something like this makes my life feel
important but it also gives me a severe pressure in the gut i
can’t just think my way out of the dehumidifier is
on almost nonstop these days because of how damp our little
unit gets
a constant whirring
inside of me and out
listen
—————————————————————
really fucking listen to Her
She is getting ready to let go
and we know the names of the people who are forcing Her hand
first and last
their pictures on the internet
each one a number and a face we can find
eating dinner retired into a wall
of not talking to their family
that they built a world of nothing for
the dull lamplights shrivelling up on electronic metal
the pipes and pipes and pipes of it
the shit we drive through
let Her take back
what they have tried to steal
but the man in the suit is
disappearing into fork clink
through steak rarer than his wealth
cinch that tie just a little closer in
to pinch at the neck
maybe even a speck of blood pulling itself out
and onto the fine cotton
on to the fine work of others
a minuscule globe the colour of
maybe the work of giving these bodies back to Her
will do enough to end the pain
—————————————————————
in the night i can hear cows grazing out in the paddocks
their low groans some symbol of childhood
each one will lift their tail
to swat or relieve
themselves
a memory of a farm and the way life was meant
to be plunging right into the earth
—————————————————————
the handkerchiefs i kept in my pockets always deterred
my bullies from checking once they
had felt the cold damp of my runny nose
caught in the cloth
but listen
She is singing
an asphalt scream digging into the sides of mountains
or dams suffocating rivers into dwindle its schist scatter
the wire trapped inside the throat of a bird or such gargantuan
rumbling as the sky torn out from the air a real physical
noise like the one coming out of my head or mouth as I read
this poem out loud to my friends who are all in the same
room behind glass leaning fragile on desks leaning back in
chairs on scuffed carpet a cool blue fading to white read these
words out loud to my friends who are all in the same
boat
starts out as a metaphor but we’ve seen how the water rises
and I’m holding a pen in my hand or barely holding on to
anything
oh fuck why
—————————————————————
after all of this
would You take me back
or
maybe
it’s a trick to suggest
we ever
left
—————————————————————
i can hold a grain of sand in my mind’s eye
it trembles in and out of focus
it creates a mountain of glass between my lids
i can almost hear the music of it
coming in hacked starts
wet fingerprints sprout
icicles stratifying
notes
coming in singe of wind under wing
they assemble a choir to sing
their drone pushing to the edges of breath
until ragged glitch of exhale
i hold my hands over my ears
and try not to feel it radiating from
my very bones
—————————————————————
a homesickness
that is gigantic
bigger than all our longing combined
———————————————————
listen
no
truly
listen
it is Her
in between the spaces
of this poem
where the black lines of the sky
crater into the light
at the base of every sound
at the centre of all gravity
is everything She is
and was and will be
a clenchedness
a tired cough caught closing
here
Her say
just be and awe
and listen
essa may ranapiri (tainui / waikato / maungatautari / waikawa / manakau / tararua | mātaatua / whakatāne / pūtauaki | cuan a tuath / guinnich / thames / highgate | takatāpui | they / ia) kaituhi residing on ngāti wairere whenua / they will write until they’re dead
