Anzac Day
we remember
to remember

         beehives
beneath kiwifruit vines
the white half-moon

aftershock
the crack
in my biscuit

powhiri—
women sit behind the men
guessing who farted

twilight
a tui mimics
a tui

behind the sheep truck
the smell
of grass and hills

outgoing tide
my mother’s togs
a year looser

off-street parking
cabbage tree fragrance
fills the spaces

fish and chips night
first home
the smell

Motuara
climbing in Cook’s steps
past a ruined pa

beach innings
three driftwood stumps
and a dog at mid on

tenting on the lawn
the kids inside
at possum time

virgin forest birdsong thickens the trees

storm warning
the cry of a shearwater
circles the sky

smokefree building
the roof
in a cloud

anzac morning
from each umbrella rib
a raindrop

in the gutter
of the old abattoir
pohutukawa

hotpools—
my breasts weightless
in your hands

night shelter—
two bums
discuss Pavlova

                      wax-eye
on a twig
                     without breaking it

Christmas morning—
finding a weta
in my sock

mountain track
finding a rock
that fits my arse

backyard cricket
Dad and I pick up
the kitchen window

a giant rimu falls
within an hour
rain

citizenship ceremony
he mouths the words
to the haka

just then—
magpies borrowing
Denis Glover’s song

Drowning the possum.
In the clear lake,
the stars

after the game
full moon
between the goalposts

tea tree
      the shape
        of an ocean
      breeze

day moon
hoof prints litter
the beach track