My pounamu, my greenstone.
As green as the harakeke used to weave a basket together.
The smoothness is broken by curves that move like the ocean.
It is small, but has the strength of Maui’s hook.
The size of the pinky I use to make promises with my friends.
It is as green as the broccoli my mum and dad lovingly put into my food.
My greenstone represents a connection to my whenua.
My whenua, my land.
My pounamu, my greenstone.