Ia Literary Journal
Forests for me,
have always been a symbol of death.
I walked to the top of the hill and I wept.
A sea of grief,
stretching out in all directions
smothers everything.
It’s salt mirrored on my cheeks, and
did I cry a whole ocean?
She tells me the salt in our tears will heal our eyes.
It’s so much bigger than I am.
It’s so much bigger than I am.
It’s so much bigger than I am.
I hear the sky
growing lighter towards the horizon, and
I am looking at a fine white line
the glowing ethereal lie
binding two lovers.
Fishing line strangled the earth.
Ko wai au?
I am the ocean.
Ko au te moana, ko te moana ko au.
I hear water
carved arteries
‘cross curved landscape, and
that didn’t stop Maui
tearing her body outwards
to bite of frozen air.
not vast enough to hold her!
in the safety of its embrace?
and if it couldn’t hold her than how can it hold us?
and if it couldn’t hold us than how can it hold me?
down.
I hear time
heals all wounds, and
as the banks of my veins flood
I sit quiet, watch.
waiting for the current
to wash us all away.
Ko wai au?
I am the river.
Ko au te awa, ko te awa ko au.
Rivers,
pinkened by the touch of Rangi
stretch outwards in front of me
great resting limbs
pointing home.
and,
in this forest
I hear no birds.
I am listening to find
my way, to the
thudding against rocks.
I will curl up inside the oceans great lung.
I am a thud between heart and rib.
The forest loops
back, and
back, and
back,
tangles underfoot.
Blackened roots gasping for air.
Tree roots melt
to sea of black.
I float, gazing
upwards
waves gently licking
eyelids.
Skin melts too, and
I am the sea.
This is the blackening of the mind.
I am the wave.
I am the infinite black.
I am the salt in your veins.
Here is stillness.
The earth turns, moving me
inwards
towards the light.
Tangaroa looks back at me from hard earth,
tears on her cheeks.