My entry for the 2015 Magpie Award for Poetry from Pulp Literature. I made the shortlist this year, which is something considering I’m not a poet.

 

Northland
Ada Maria Soto

 

Whakaangi

 

February cicadas in full, desperate, mating frenzy

Drown out even the western winds

Screaming over Doubtless Bay.

 

The birds have given up trying to sing.

Even the tui,

Who jealously guards his territory

Between the gum tree and the overgrown hibiscus.

 

 

 

Waitangi Day

 

The baby, no longer really a baby

Stands on the back porch

Overlooking the tall summer grass.

Her babble isn’t high and sweet

But rather low, with a heavy driving cadence.

She may be addressing an army of her own making.

The words ‘No’ and occasionally ‘Bubble’

Are scattered through her commanding speech

Rallying her troops to action.

 

Later grandmother will lead her down the track

Through the bush,

Between the mānuka, palms, and cabbage trees.

Every five steps she stops and squeals

Pointing out a curl of fern or bit of stone.

 

She tries to pull off her cheap sandals,

The Velcro on the left proving surprisingly troublesome.

The rough gravel and sharp prickles

Beneath her soft baby feet

Do not distract from the wonder

Of a daytime moon in the blue sky.

 

 

 

Tārū Kahika

 

The night wind shifts then is gone.

There is an unreality in the soft, even,

Near silent, fall of rain,

Caught and cradled by the earth.

Hushed as if it did not wish to rouse

Any who might witness its gentle moment.