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Nadezhda Macey

Sestina I


I come back unchanged 
Table grapes still rot over the veranda 
The wasps taking their sweet time 
And spilling forth like an eager lover the river will not wait  
Eels, soft like wet algae or meat 
Swim their soft curls of goodbye.  

At the party we kiss their cheeks goodbye 
Leave together early and short-changed 
Bodies kept cold like pieces of meat
Smoking on the steps of the veranda.  
Red light spills onto your face, we wait 
For the Uber, you tell me now is not the time. 

The bonfire is big and muddy sparkling in time 
With the murmur of the river as we say goodbye 
To summer. The burn takes hours we wait 
Watching the trees, only one changed
Burning red amongst the evergreens hugging the veranda.
Blood burns juicy from your hands, don’t you like fresh meat?  

A lamb spits fat above the flames but I don’t eat meat 
You say your family will see in time 
That this is not so bad. On the veranda 
Everyone sits with plates of grease and you kiss me goodbye 
With oily lips. I go home, get changed 
Colour my eyes and nails dark, now wait  

Still like a stone to dry. I get a little fucked up as I wait 
For you, walking towards me holding flowers that smell like meat 
Easter orchid blooming, death on your mind. You are changed 
And so will I with the seasons. In time 
We’ll see different summers, you’ll leave me on read as goodbye.
Already, we begin the untwisting. I am the veranda   

You are the house. We walk up a flat’s veranda 
You want me to apologise but it will be a long wait. 
I blow soft vapour in your face, peach ice. Said goodbye 
To healthy lungs long ago, can feel the rotting meat 
Deep under my ribs. A pūriri moth lives one day in time 
But curls five years in a chosen tree, becoming changed. 

We too are changed, standing on the veranda.  
Time flows and turning with the skies the river will not wait 
Summer mud holds like meat under our feet. This is no soft goodbye.

Rita Angus / Shakshuka


You text me  
that the crisp yellow 
            the hills and the light    
brought a tear to your eye 
            it was like a Rita Angus painting 

I text you        
that shakshuka was so good 

You are so nice          with your unbought tulips 
your open morning face 
my lilies dying           on your desk 

 At the door  
            hands full of cans and post-it notes 
a bird and a smile     in your teeth 

 ‘Why do you like me?  
                        I don’t know why I like you’  

It’s the Instagram reels       of pasta 
cornbread      lemon posset 
    cream, sugar, lemon juice           pulling me to you   

It’ll be okay at the end of this 
we’ll have played cards        and eaten well 
at nice restaurants for cheap  

The shower    and the fridge door   broken 
top of Bell Rd and the city view 

It’ll all be okay cos
you’ll still be as lovely as you always were 
just one year closer       to a law degree  

I’ll be somewhere                 further    than you think 
   or closer  
to a room we’re both in     and dancing


Nadezhda Macey
(she/her) is from Te Whanganui-a-Tara, currently studying in Lyon, France. She misses living by the sea, but walking by the metropolitan river is good too.