Ada Duffy
Connecting to known networks
under the glare of a two-walled cubicle
eyes thick like lard, wide but unseeing
index in futile plea to unstick the space bar
then rearrange jargon, make hours move
take the stairs to the staffroom
in reward, check the marae on Google Images
that wooden wave in the sea of the celestial
is dulled by a singular cumulus smudge
to be wiped with the hem of a sleeve
then a licked thumb fuses the screen, refreshing
it revives, metastasises pixels
to coalesce with skin cells; a restoration
outside, the wave makes periodic shadows
that crane as toroa bowing toward the urupā
past successions of descendants who people the pae
they the axis; their ancestors steady
in revolution, multiplying from new angles
increasing dimension out to the gates
of generations in coeval exchange
drawing voices intertwined across the pae
the in-between where all will soon respire
but should the rain come and the visions
of kin short circuit, disconnect the guests
behind the gate, its threshold gaping
in the beyond, the mauka looks on
shadows the procession, renders voices
nebulous in softening curves of gorse
squares of land dim while brightness turns
a blinding sun against a glass facade
as if to return to ergonomic habitual
sip another cup of lacquered efficiency
pioneer paraphrasing of others’ deductions
only to fade in the frame of space grey
or else flee in the black chasms of mauka
recede indistinct in eroding stone
gather among the shadows of weathering
for in darkness, all else illuminates
to assume the winds of a messenger
receive the resonance of unheard language
reify the essence of the easterly
shifting ever, edging coastlines, cored of hardness
as a ridge folds behind the bay
cascades of rain cup its cliff face
and hair is tucked clear for eyes
to take it all in
papa’s in a petri dish
an ekphrastic poem for ‘Microscopik’ by Nicola Farquhar
just outside the threshold there
the sea the sky
are
performing
long distance
long enough to forget
who leads
or is the mirror
they the backdrop
to distractions
flashy thorny shapes
borne of
precision technology
and words thrust by man
to shroud the vastness
of
blue
whose courtship is compromised
tipped together in a plastic pail
colliding clouds tide pools
an entire breath
the blue is
mediated
by man who holds out
an upside down map
man who recites yesterday’s headlines
man who points in all directions
man informs that
everywhere is somewhere
except here
in pursuit of an elsewhere—
the followers the swimmers high-flyers
over-exert
glass fogs over their eyes
they forget
generations spent underwater
time carved with coral reefs
paddles across the celestial
and rests
to decorate familiar paths
with children
navigators they ripple fuss fiddle
then float
along some disenchantment
some fighting harmony
some death and birth
then lay their oars
against the quotidian
all mere splashes
kicking in the blue
the formless
the transitioning
nascent eyes in this womb
ārero whīwhiwhi / tongue-tied
my tongue is a korowai
of corrugated iron
repurposed from pieces found
in curb-side skips and back alleys
each ridge awakens like pages
of books flipped and froze open
I’m rote-learned so my words
stuck in the past still I’m tense
coz this informs the now
I’m galvanised but I’m rusty
all red-faced to the whenua
I’m sharp my throat serrated
my words c-c-c-cut
I stutter akin kupu clutter
each groove digs its own
darkness so I’d paint it
white like my Irish skin
kia whakamā ai coz
no one would suspect a thing
but the rust it bled right
through like the wrong
karakia for the occasion
yet we all pat each other
on the back for giving it a go
karawhiua coz it’s hard
to relearn when every word
every notion must first
be unlearned
each ridge ripples
as tide cycles self-esteem
reminding me I’m cool
like k-k-k-Kāi Tahu
day one shipped Takaroa + Papa
my toto it flows from awa
to eyes closed and when I’m up
I visualise my pepeha
aloud we breathe as one
my tongue is a korowai
fashioned at my shoulders
by whanauka and tīpuna
and tuākana and teachers
whose presence still has me
at my knees and when I don’t dare
move in fear of destined missteps
instead I try to rise above it
feel the hau return to feathers
Ada Duffy (Kāi Tahu Whānui) is a writer based in Ōtepoti. You can find their work in Starling and PŪHIA RUA. They’re probably out with the moon.