an Aotearoa poetry journal | ISSN 2744-3248

All Editions

Tarot #07
Tarot #06
Tarot #05
Tarot #04
Tarot #03
Tarot #02
Tarot #01

Past perfect

Back then I could not say where I was going
dust devils stirred at the crossroads
outside the Guangdong factory
where my father ordered next season’s
Valentine heart gorillas.
At night the library carrels were empty
as manuka stars flicked the dark
and blurred like grass blades on the edge
of a tea tree’s shade.

I had forgotten all that until this morning
when I told you how I’ve blotted out
some of the best hand drawn miniatures of my want.
You put down your fork and said
there’s a Bollywood song about two young innocents
who wait for a long departed train
they stare down the tracks to the dry far hills.
She sings “When did all the others
we could have met leave the station?”
That’s when the strings rise, the thunder breaks
and the rain comes. They race towards
each other as pink and purple garlands
fall from the sky, hand in hand
they begin to bhangra in time
from one supposed present to another.