It's been three years since BMP14, and I'm still an Occupational Therapist who enjoys traipsing around Northland, helping families where I can. Urban jungles and open spaces continue to be my sources for inspiration, and of course, culture and people.
'Te Whanau' has been printed once in The Northern Advocate in 2006, as part of the Montana Poetry Day. I've included it here because it has personal significance, and it's an honour to have it here. Kakite ano.
Cello
Look at all the lonely people
she translated
as the music began,
flowing through
the apertures of my heart
as though shaped by the hands of a luthier.
Our quarrels were spent;
no longer fired from
the 'bows held across our lips...
Her words were now sweet
and I felt them whisper
and linger across the chordae -
like heartstrings
from a different lifetime.
We watched Eleanor Rigby pass by -
our hellos unseen in the dim light.
Her forlorn footsteps
faded in spiccato
and she
was gone.
These Crucial Things
The unwanted find their home with me -
words strewn over my desk
pleading their cacophony:
Urgent
Targets
Disability To-do
Permanent
Ongoing Help
Me I cannot
think
of anything
but of hands,
cupping serenity over
my eyes.
Hands that meant everything.
Te Whanau
The kite was a constant –
suspended, like a small deity
against the backdrop
of the lightening sky.
The puddles, in reflection
were turning grey; with leaves
like stranded gondolas.
My thoughts were maudlin,
and encased by the Chills
while she had no chaperone
for hers…
She was facing the wind instead,
thinking perhaps, of her
forefathers and their mana,
slumbering
across the ocean.
Our child’s hands were upon
the rain-dampened string -
harnessing happiness
from the wind.
Climbing over the ridge,
I saw a trinity of posts
with their wavering shadows
i
s
o
l
sa
tt
ai
nio
dnn.
They were the three of us.
