holding onto Tamawahine
essa may ranapiri
i cradle u and
my embrace is a tremble
coz i dont know what it means
to have lost u once
ur own weight carries itself into
this crook i have assembled
from desperate scramblings my atua found
in piecemeal bytes i hold u
thumb tucked inside of cord
cord wrapped around wrist
a weight where u have been o
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there are some things that you never
want to see break
scattered across a dining room floor
three sections flat into linoleum
the weave undoing
as ploughshare break as ploughshare shatter
as they take all the men they can
to rooms with no exits
the women left behind to do the work
from a pile of fragments u persist
like how we persist
a name more permanent than stone
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is it that i hold onto a glimmer of myself
moving like water between two unbudging
assumptions
the light moving thru
u like white veins i feel massively
at my ribs when i place u
lower u into
the black cloth
that wrapped u
for safety
i feel u leave along
all
of my edges
to know u
have cut me
an opening in
which to see
a place i can stand