Spirit of the Land
This land is my home
where the naked mountains caress
the sky
and the veins of hills run to the sea.
This land is my home
where I’ll live alone until
my hair grows white
and my bones grow old
then I’ll hang my spirit on tree tops
to provide a cushion of coolness
for children who gather round
evening fires.
By Makiutii Tongia (Cook Islands)
Waitangi Day, Porirua By Vivienne Plumb
The best place to be on Waitangi
Day is Porirua, and I gaze
up and the clouds right above me have
elongated themselves, so they resemble
ribs, and I look out as if I am
inside the body. Tahi, rua,
two moons in one small month and they are
calling them blue. Paua fritters three
dollars, big yellow blow-up bouncy
castle, flax bangles, sausage on a
stick, watermelon, eight guys in a
Waka on the still lagoon. Bhuja.* *An Indian snack of toasted spicy nuts
An Indian woman sells me bhuja.
Porirua reggae is the best.
It is Bob Marley’s birthday, stir it
up little darlin. The men wearing
lava lava beat the drums, the kids
jump in the fountain, hangi be quick
only four dollars for a good feed.
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