my father says white men fear

my father says white men fear

the day we rise 

and kill you in your beds 

he built the bridge 

where fairies burned 

and turned to stone 

under the heat 

of the rising sun 

that he lassoed 

like Māui

he spun the rope 

into golden weave 

his hands 

etched tā moko 

into the weeping face 

of dead trees 

(commissioned pieces

for amazon's lord of the rings

or te papa museum) 

he carves rivers of whakapapa 

into Papatūānuku’s asiatic pussy

he carves ancestors of states 

he carves whitecoats on boats 

he carves turf-war rapes 

with those hands that create 

with those hands

held up to the masters 

the gatekeepers 

the final three tohunga 

protectors of tapu 

navigating a path 

written in the stars 

my whakapapa is your artist's practice 

Dad… 

European sculptor 

of Māori whakairo

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