© The Three Fates, 1558-1559, Mantua, by Giorgio Ghisi, Giulio Romano. Te Papa (1910-0001-1/15-80)
una planted a garden
hide under tables pīwakawaka flirt
clutch matriarch calves lilting bough to bough
within temple of vine and moss hop semiquavers
fossilised maze witches wink of tail is an eyelash flutter
catch pond frogs eyes glinting over a mother’s shoulder
kererū coo Puck of the bush
not hushed opportunistic
she would have laughed glimpses
shakes of soft mulch peeking cloud
on mānuka kānuka kauri catch her trap crepuscular
on berloddy Tāne Mahuta! snatch insect wings
threads of sunlight descend silhouetted insomniac dawn
pre-burial in purple swooping seeking
rotted bench planks bugs
weeds colonising stirred up by our shoes
this op shop sells memories
cracking open citrus spritzes
eyes of deep orange swimmers
frosted glass water jugs
mascarpone cream cheese & ricotta
icing flat with warmed knives
dipped in hot water mug kitchen
bench collecting cut-out scrapbooks nail scissors
tracing sapphic hues of deep blues
lilac knitting patterns &
pockets of coupons &
letters to the editor tumbling
apricot nectarine & peach fannies
dripping down chin fibres pulled
between flesh & teeth
scribbled notes between pages
bottom of boxes gritty fingertips
mildew & shortbread tripping
tree roots that curve stretch
mark pavement escaping
plastic tulips in roadside
cafés have mold spotting
dusty pamphlets about cape
reinga & old men with shiny
white overbites mouths never
closing she collected names magazine pictures numbering pages of
HARVEY
HAVER
HAWORTH HAY
(Hayden)
HAYS
pink ink archives
storing hollywood
underlined & asterixed
twinked & pasted
in the bottom drawer
jumbled bag ties
phone books
tupperware
lids & silverfish
moirai (the fates)
i) clotho
pulled out of thumb endless i am
knuckleward and they call me a wheel
i am they call me a wheel you pull
across cheekbones to feel what type of plait
i am spinning tightness tightness and they drag me
dough between spread fingers i feel them call me a wheel
see the pith of the orange stretching between i’m
gelatine melting into strings i want to be ripped apart
sleekness beneath my belly they call me a wheel thinning
they call me a wheel churning tarmac rolling mossy
earthquakes slips and landslides
they call me a bobbin they call me spin cycle
they call me a wheel spinning in the parlour
tooth
pick
floss
bleeding
i
am
drawing
blood
from
stone
i
am
that
suck
of
the
needle
pulled
nurseward
buticannotandwillnoticannot and will not be umbilical cord i cannot and will not bediscordant i am a single note calling i ama single note icy they call me a wheel but i must thread the needle and they call me a wheel but they call me pan dora and they call me a wheel with f ingernails on fire and they call me their origin a nd they call me their wheel and they call me predestine d and they loveme for winning and they love me for winning but they call me aw heel crushing fingers of children they call me a wheel
ii) lachesis
sat in front of fire only weaving only weaving
i am a narrator not listened at the door not
basement knitting i am and i am
motherlines but mother’s locked in the
about my day they call me a tapestry taught down
dry they call me a tapestry but they have not asked me
behind curtains and the moths have been sucking me
weaving snakes between columns they call me a tapestry
dripping silkiness on the welcome mat they call me a tapestry
they call me a tapestry they call me a tapestry torn
they call me a tapestry hanging in the hallway
friend
ship
bracelet
yarn
sewing
baskets
of
meat
fat
tectonic
etchings
i
stretch
and
bind
your
hands
behind
i
can’t
help
but
tea
cosy
and im bindingandbindingandbindingandbinding and my knucklesarebleedingandbleedingandbleeding and im seepingseepingandseeping into the history cracks when men see me they imagine me weaving our bodies when men see me they imagine me doing their laundry when men see me they call me a tapestry when men see me they imagine mypelvislooming when men see me they call me a tapestry when men see me they see me knittingthem backtogether and they call me a nightgown and they call me a tapestry and they call me a tapestry and they call me a tapestry and they call me fresh carpet and they see me inside them and they call me a tapestry and they call us inseparable and they tie me around their pinkies but i have learnt how to unpick my mother taught me to unpick but i have learnt how to defrost and i have learnt fingerknitting and they are watching my needles they are watching my needles but they call me their saviour and they call me a tapestry but i’m
leaving
iii) atropos
above the fire
all the trinkets are stuffed i am a sword on the wall
seas let’s drown in depths we have not seen
and they call me a sword jumping
fly in windless nights leaf
ing hands so loose they rip and rib
on the roof i say they call me a sword stretch
out pull me out vibrating i want out so get me out i’m pounding
pavement rhythms into skulls they call me a sword get me
they call me a sword they call me a sword pounding
they call me a sword sheathed in gut lining
above the fire
swerve
in
front
of
your
sweet
neck
can’t
help
but
cut
in
where
your
seams
meet
snip
those
thick
staples
and
let
drip
down
the
night’s
dark
oil
getitoutofmyheadicannotthinkorsleepforbeingwrangledandicannotbehereicannotbehere but i am and ic annot leave for this is whereihave ended up eveerynight for weeks and theycallme a sword but i forget and i cannotrememberhow to grasptheh andle and i’m there in the pocket of night unable to unzip th ebeanbag from around my face and it’s suffocating stars and polystyrene beads and they call me a sword but when i look in the mirror all i see is sheet metal and they call me a sword but they’ve never felt my ribs squeaking and they call me a sword but they are not bread makers and they call me a sword but take up two seats on the bus they call me a sword but don’t know emery they call me a sword but they call me a sword
