and you say ‘green’

Kārerarera
pale like fresh growth
of māhoe across Zealandia’s
valley in spring, or a
tasty Granny Smith
to be cooked up in a pudding

Kākāriki
a beautiful rich green, like (obvs)
the native parrot that Mum
bred out at the farm
with red or yellow crowns
and cheeky little chatters

Kārikiuri
dark green like a Christmas tree
with spiky upturned branches
that give ‘the finger’
or my old school blazer that
itched and confined in summer

Hīoi
the glossy sumptuous leaves
of a puka that make you feel
you’re in a tropical paradise
even though you are freezing
your arse off in Wellington

Kānapanapa
the shimmery green of the
slinky crushed velvet dress scored
from the Quinn’s sale that I wore sneaking
into the nightclub squinting my eyes
at the door for a less innocent look

Kārikihāura
a succulent olive’s
browny green or the back
of my hei tiki after she
has sucked in oils
from my body

Kārikikōwhai
lime green like the scooters
that we glided across
the flat city on
trying to avoid potholes
and clumsy tourists

Kārikiōraki
the teal of salt water in Akaroa
and blue-green lines of Mokorua
the moko etched into my chin

Kārikitea
like Snifters we chewed at the pictures
or the pastel green popular
in the eighties that looked sickly
against my Kāi Tahu
honey beige skin

published in takahē t110, 2024.

Pōua’s oriori

Pōua’s oriori says
do not come in the eighth month
               Koi i te rā o te Waru

Pōua’s oriori says
do come in the eighth month
               Nāhaku e whakaputa nei
from where you do you come, e Tama?
from the ripened womb?
               Kai te hūareare i puta
open, clear of obstruction
projecting out, mucous-lined
               Te Wahine a Mākū
               moonstruck son of spittle
and phlegm releasing
through the great expanse
               Mahoranuiātea
               Ka puta a Tamanuiterā
You must follow the order of things, e Tama
               Ia Te Moretū
               Ia Te Moremau
               Ia Te Moretaketake 

Pōua’s oriori says
do not come in the time of Mākū
that wet cold world
congealer of lung
no air will enter
no song
no chant 

Look for the post in the far off
distance
look for tiny eyes of ancestors
               Tō tipuna āhua tōrikiriki
cast away to Pōrakahau
where all of the pou
align like the tide
eyes watching
from the sky 

               Ko Te Aotūroa
               Ko Te Aomārama
               Te tai ka whati 

The tide breaks
see the glint in the brine
they come for you, e tama
a shimmering silvery-blue
in otherwordly
twilight 

               We sleep when we’re tired
               We eat when we’re hungry
               We are born when
               whakapapa
               & moontide
               shine

Published in Turbine Kapohau 2022. Includes selected lines from an oriori called ‘E Tama’ supplied by my pōua Teone Taare Tikao, to Herries Beattie in 1920.