poetry

cross-Tasman smoke

cross-Tasman smoke

at first it seemed low-lying cloud
like the grey embedded in Great Lakes life
a natural ceiling for a January day
but when I saw the sun
my heart slumped
that sick pink-salmon shade
that without fail means fire

it doesn’t matter how many oceans we cross
the earth everywhere is burning
still we recklessly slake our thirst for jet fuel
while the ash rains down on our hair

we should undoubtedly stay home
satisfied with others’ memories
but it feels like asking too much
to refrain from ever knowing
some of what is left

poetry

Opening Papua

opening Papua

her reefs were hidden by azure skirts
bowerbirds dozed in the kinks of her hair
cuscus and cassowaries peeked out
from the folds of her emerald skin
her deep beauty concealed
from a stranger’s passing glance

until a sharp man
conversant with birds
traced a pig’s path
with his machete
learned a language
copying letters onto leaves
put down his bow for binoculars
and welcomed everyone:
neighbor stranger Java-man
alike saying
come to the Arfak
visit our village
meet our wonders
then please go home