poetry

poetry

Limbaugh

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Limbaugh

O, America
how you reward
the most vile of men
and how I want
to finally quit you

all us women
battered by the words
of these irredeemable
powerful men –
we must leave

if you think
it can’t get worse, it will
it’s time to find a place
where people are calm and kind

we must up and go now
and take all our sisters
(and, yes, the moral men, too)
with us

we’ll just walk out
and leave the dishes in the sink –
leave them the mess of
guns and banks and greed –
until they’ve stolen it all from each other
and shot every living thing dead

then someday
when the coasts are finally clear
if the land calls loud enough
we may return

poetry

coronavirus: prejudice gone viral

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coronavirus: prejudice gone viral

the man sits next to me
and I can’t help but notice
his Asian features
and the surgical mask
concealing his smile

I grimace hello
and he manages nice to meet you
I hear him talking to his friend across the aisle
in what might be Mandarin or Cantonese
although Korean or Japanese are equally possible
all I know is
they are words without resonance for me
with no cognates I can catch
and wring some meaning from
we settle in for ten hours
and his hacking cough makes an entrance

this is the worst-case scenario I think
(except for the mask, I suppose)
and I pass around the hand sanitizer feverishly
fear spreads like phages multiplying
and I inch my right arm away from his left –
it didn’t even start with the sickness, though,
this unbidden Chinese antipathy

at home, planning the trip,
we heard on and on
about their hunger for any creature
ground into powder
resources drained from around the globe
to fuel an empire
when I see the big tour groups
all the women sporting nondescript bobs
their leader invariably clutching a metal stick
with a grubby stuffy on the end
I give them a wide berth

at the Māori cultural program they shuffled along
ignoring the performers’ questions and directions –
because they didn’t understand!
I must actively remind myself now
feeling the slip toward stereotypes and judgement

I’m horrified by my own wave of aversion
how my lens warps
just how easy I am to fool
how quickly I can see
someone else as other

poetry

missing out

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missing out

he tells me to embrace
the joy of missing out
and I can’t even say
why those words
bring such a wave of pain

sometimes the body knows
what the mind censors

poetry

red white and blue flags

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red white blue flags

estranged from a country
I’m supposed to call mine
a place meant to stand for something:
freedom opportunity refuge equality
all of those abandoned
subsumed by oligarchy’s will
I see in this new little land
a model that seems unreplicable
a country where the words are going wild
back to the rich Māori meaning-laden names
without the people really noticing
they’ve dropped the English that doesn’t serve
a country built on second chances
filled with nature souls
who want to be out in the bush
in their little kiwi baches
windows fronting the sea
they revel in feeling small
here is a place with an island stripped bare
the people say, together we’ll plant it
and they do
now it’s bush so thick
you wouldn’t believe it’d been farmed

I think of all the reasons it wouldn’t possibly work
at home
look at me – I can barely say Hinóno’éí
let alone speak one living word of it
look at our restoration attempts
riddled with weeds

here in Godzone country
everything seems easier
(except the quakes)

but the locals squint back and shake their heads –
No, it’s not.
New Zealand only found its Māoriness around 1996.
Before that, the Māori language was banned.
We’ve got a noxious weed problem, too,
she says, but we volunteers pull them.

maybe it’s not too late to change
to bring back some substantial bit of
what was lost
maybe our big godforsaken country
could grow a little less corrupt
a little more wild
a little more native
and whole

poetry

on finding your audience

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on finding your audience

I am writing out a hole in my chest
writing down a neverending list of daily found treasures
writing up my kaupapa as I discover it
writing what little I know of our whakapapa
for our children to hold onto
when we’re gone
writing what I fear to say
and what I want to scream
writing as medicine – the pencil
evens my breath and soothes my heart
writing mostly because
it’s the closest thing to a calling I’ve known
and that makes me trust
I’ve got some words in me somewhere
someone else needs

poetry

Australia vs. New Zealand

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Australia vs. New Zealand

we lumped them before we left:
Australia-and-New-Zealand
countries with the Union Jack,
Southern Cross, English speakers
tea, cricket, rugby, and the queen

later I mention this to a Kiwi
and she’s surprised we would equate them
(which further surprises me)
although now we understand

Australia: hot as blazes
and on fire
blue oily eucalyptus haze everywhere
a massive, unending country
with an almost empty middle of wild desert
mostly flat, with death lurking everywhere:
crocs sharks snakes stingers –
you have to keep the children close –
a tough landscape breeds stout-hearted people
with a ready wit
to take you down a peg
they’ve also got mammals falling out their ears
and the brassiness of a country
built on convict labor –
g’day

New Zealand: pack your puffy even in summer
the Long White Cloud’ll get you
the forest is mostly gone
and the toothy animals were never here
nothing can eat you,
almost not one thing can harm you,
and children roam about the bush on their own
folks ask with genuine self-effacing humor
oh, my, you’re a long way from home –
how’d you come to hear about us?
we’re just a little place
(they’ve no swagger to speak of)
underlying everything is volcano and earthquake
to further humble you –
you’re just a blip in this tiny unstable ocean,
so far away only a bat could make it
Kia ora! they say
pressing the bridge of their nose against yours
this is a place where everyone thinks
about their kaupapa and whakapapa
where people identify with fern fronds and forest birds
where everyone speaks in two tongues
and lives in two worlds

poetry

Auckland

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Auckland

you and I are South Island people
Alex says

10 minutes on the street in Auckland
and I realize I am blinking fast
while impeccably dressed people hurtle past us
toward their ferries

a man on a bike rings his bell three times
then mutters curses
before Alex gets out of his way

at the Countdown grocery
I see the first person panhandling in months
and then we gawk as a Rolls-Royce glides by

here people are just too polished for us
and I already miss the rough grey-green
of West Coast jade

poetry

fresh fruit ice cream

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fresh fruit ice cream

scoop after scoop
of vanilla ice cream
plus my chosen raspberries
smooshed together
to a luscious pink rope
of cold sweet fatty bliss
dropped on top
of a crunchy waffle cone
all because Cedar
passed fourth grade math

poetry

250 years ago

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250 years ago

James Douglas 14th Earl of Morton
begs for mercy, restraint, peaceful contact:

Exercise the utmost patience [and] respect for the Natives…shedding the blood of these people is a crime of the highest nature…every effort should be made to avoid violence; if it becomes inevitable then [they] should be treated with distinguished humanity, [so] the Crew still considers them as Lords of the Country

this is a scientific endeavor
tracking Venus’s transit across the sun
establishing our exact place
in the scheme of things
it’s a boat full of scientists
and the Royal Society of London
guards against making men murderers
reminds them to be civil

and
almost immediately, they kill

Te Maro lies splayed on the sand –
these studious men prove
no better than conquistadors
and it all adds up to the same story again:
arrival means death