ancestors
we are here
and we see you
each one of us trailed
by our ancestors’ shadows
radiating out from our small souls
like spokes from a turning wheel
like the infinite bodies extending
away from ours
in the dressing room mirror
when we speak
echoes of their beliefs rattle
through the drums of our chests
we are never alone
with us they say
in their own silent tones
we are here
and we see you
photo by Owen
Roxy the Red Fox
a fuzzy flicker of flame
far brighter than the
temperamental woodstove can manage
glides across ice-crusted snow
in knee-high black boots
he fixes us with amber eyes
gauging our intent
then settles in on the knoll
overlooking Moon Creek
(we passed his test)
first he curls his tail into a cushion
then draws himself up
so he can settle upon it
like a ptarmigan atop her chicks
from his dainty pointed nose
to velvet black-backed ears
he is all elegance
that still melts into ponderosa when needed
now we’ll never feel the same here,
always looking out the sides of our sight
wondering if he’s near
studying any tracks
and sniffing for his scent
waiting for him
with the same delightful disappointment
the Little Prince felt when his fox was late
our latest emissary from the universe’s
Department of Good News
says without speaking
no matter how distant you try to be
you’re never, ever alone –
your animal family
will always be near
Found in Enn Zed
other countries you don’t know where the hell you are
this country’s small enough you don’t get lost
even in Christchurch you can climb a hill
and see the sea and
(Allan nods)
know, oh, yeah, that’s where I am!
aren’t we all looking for a place we won’t get lost?
where Tāne Mahuta will watch over us?
where mana doesn’t equal money
and the power and design
of an unfurling fern frond
is revered by everyone?
actually, no,
I suppose most Americans
aren’t missing these things
which makes them all the more
bittersweet to find
at the antipode to my existence
where I’ll never be home
Kiwi in Disguise
in New Zealand
I try not to speak
each syllable gives me away as other
my fat flat short American a’s
broadcast my origin
I’ve read so many books by (to me) foreigners
mentioning that abrasive American honk
our loud crass obnoxious accent
I try to turn mine off
order tomahtoe sauce instead of ketchup
speak of rubbish bins instead of trash cans
ask if someone is in the queue not line
get directions for the toilet not bathroom
take the lift not elevator
go to the car park not parking lot
am tempted to just talk like the locals
lips stretched out into a thin line
talking about those swimming shelled reptiles:
turdles don’t have any ees
but I will never add up
to more than a Kiwi in disguise
