a water suite

ocean/saltwater/waitī/mulli tahnee

where i’m from the sand is cold     at night, the shells empty, grey

cloud scudding like

the irewaru the spirit voices

on the shore

tender salt, gentle rush of foam

no explorer can hold enough breath for where i’m from

fathoms and fathoms deep                  

              i have heard. i have danced

narrative after narrative

have heard it sung

have done the singing               

our shadows are nuclear                      

our gods can swim                    

‘never turn your back on the ocean.’ i hear this

everytime i have saltwater up my nose, down the back of my throat, making me cough;

everytime i have sand in my togs, or socks; everytime

i place the smallest of cateyes in my pocket and whisper a karakia. i hear my mother.