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My Mother Meets My Father in an Alternate Koru

I said fuck I feel Māori when I’m swimming in a river.

You looked at me with the sun escaping your grip.


In the river we look for pounamu or gold or

heart-shaped stones. I am hopeful.


I tell you what I live for.

Hot looks and hot summers.


You teach me how to cook an egg on a rock,

pick a big flat stone, carry the river in your hands

and watch if the water dances off.


I don’t like eggs but I like you

I say come on

I’m trying to get a good look at your face.

Laugh for me babe, stick up the sun again.


When I look at you wading, the twist

in your waist is surprisingly delicate

and I can see the inheritance in you,

the ropes, your grandmother’s jaw bone,

your hair so identical to your mother’s

she must have wrapped you in it.


Then I think it would be good

for my children to have a father

like you cooking an egg on the rocks


watching the salt rise and reverse

back up to heaven.



you say there are good things everywhere

you only have to train your eyes to look up.