Hine-nui-te-Pō

Image Credit:    Miriam Espacio    from    Pexels

Image Credit: Miriam Espacio from Pexels

Half caste daughters

of half castes

about to fall into quarters.

Cast out into cities

and universities

and forgotten about.

Their umbilical cords cut

and dumped in a sludge

of hospital waste.

The fake lobotomised smile

on their faces while bumping

a line off the back of

a phrenology textbook.

Shook at all the colours

you can find in a skull.

Taking boyfriends

like appointments with a doctor.

A finger in the mouth and

wanting to say

ah or amen

or ugh, men.

The migraines.

The light coming in.

The inherited trauma of

deeply existing in the space of

separated parents.

The long nights and the

sleep paralysis. Lying

on your back and pushing

the sky from your chest

with thighs that kill demigods.

The violence of divorce, the space

it leaves. The shock of the light

coming in. The distance.

The difference between

Heaven and the knowledge

that your first mother was hell

and chose to be.

Reconciling

what it means to be her daughter.

Getting her magic bible bashed

out of you. Running away to

cities and universities downloading

Tinder and getting assimilated in

white minimalist bedrooms.

Imported plants from Bunnings

overgrowing and infecting the whenua.

When it was my turn to come clean I said

I grew up tacky and hungry and dazzling.

I grew up neck deep in the dirt

but all I needed was a good pair of eyes

to see the stars first

which meant I got a lot wishes.

But I only had one thing to wish for.

All my fathers are in the sky anyway

I know I don't have to say it

But Mum you should have tied me

to the ground.

Instead I was given

to this city freely

Friends on benes.

Crown apologies.

Wannabe it girls at parties.

I wonder how it must feel

to be tethered somewhere

by a sense of home. To be buried

in your urupa and to find that when you die

you have been waiting

for yourself, this whole time, all along.